MyCoR 4: Nigh Unto Christmas
by Amita4ever
Summary: "I got him... I would'a never guessed he had such a soft spot in his little heart. Children in peril. He's stupid like that..." – Johns' Chase Log TCoR: Pitch Black DVD bonus material Hmm, could there be a story there?
1. Chapter 1: Prologues & Whispers

**MyCoR 4  
(My Chronicles of Riddick)**  
**my:** (_adjective_) of or relating to me or myself especially as author of _these_ particular  
**chronicles**: (_noun_) a historical account of events arranged in order of time.  
This is _**not**_ a title claiming The Chronicles of Riddick are mine, but rather that this is the forth in a series of additional (and _completely_ _unofficial_) chronicles that I have created for Riddick that try to fill in some of the space left by the movies while staying within the canon (universe and timeline) laid out by Universal Studios (**AND** my attempt to force FF.n to file my stories in chronological order instead of alphabetical ;oD). Most stories in my arc are, for the most part, stand-alone with only minor references to previous stories so if you haven't read the stories that came before this one, don't sweat it :o).  
**Stories before this one **(please see profile for current status):**  
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**MyCoR 1: Saved by Grace** - 30 years before TCoR a man sought his future and certain events were set in motion... during the destruction of Furya an infant was left in a trashcan to die, his own umbilical 'artfully' wrapped around his neck. How'd he survive? My take.

**MyCoR 2:** **Be Still: Chances** - Riddick's history is piecemeal at best, and a lot happened to him before PITCH BLACK. What were the Wailing Wars? Where'd the million credit bounty come from? Why does he hate God? My take on Riddick's past.

**MyCor 3: ****Turn About** - Captured by bounty hunters, Riddick is enroute to Hubble Bay Penal Facility when the ship goes down in a jungle, and he's not the only survivor. The other's a citified secretary with a bounty of her own, but she may be more trouble than she's worth.

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**FORMALITIES**

**COPYRIGHTS:  
Fandom: **The characters of Richard Riddick and William Johns and other elements taken from the context of the movies Pitch Black, The Chronicles of Riddick, their novelizations and their official websites are copyrighted to Universal Studios. Entries from John Chase Log are taken directly from the bonus features of the TCoR: Pitch Black DVD (although some language has been edited). The manner of their use, and everything else in Nigh Unto Christmas is the creative creation of FanFic Member Amita4ever.

**Bookcover:** Many thanks to **SemonView** dot **com** for permission to use the thumbnail of their Christmas Ball graphic for my story.

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**RATED: **T** FOR:** (if, at any time, you feels this rating needs to be changed, please contact me via** personal message**)  
**Language:** medium  
**Adult Themes:** mild  
**Violence:** mild (one chapter might need a higher rating - it will be prefaced)  
**Other:**

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**SUMMERY:** "I got him... I would'a never guessed he had such a soft spot in his little heart. Children in peril. He's stupid like that. Shoulda known that'd slow him down too much." John's Chase Log – TCoR: Pitch Black DVD. Hmmm, there could be a story there. Of course there is ;o) **Writer's Note:** It's always a challenge to write a Christmas story around someone else's character. That challenge is two fold if that character is Richard B Riddick and the goal is to keep him in character.

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**ON RIDDICK'S TIMELINE:** The first time William Johns captured Riddick (no record of that chase anywhere that I know of) he took him to the slam called Butcher Bay. After a "disagreement" with the warden, (and Riddick wreaking havoc through several levels of the multi security leveled prison) Johns decided to take his prisoner to a different slam which entailed them escaping from Butcher Bay together (the incredibly simplified storyline of the game Escape From Butcher Bay). This story fills the gap between Escape from Butcher Bay and the movie Pitch Black ¤. _(For a more exact location, see__ The History of Riddick: A Writer's Tool__. It's Riddick's history from official sources for the use of writers who like to pull on (or fit their stories in the vicinity of) the 'official' canon of the character. Since I posted it, I took the liberty of noting the location of my stories in it :o)_  
This is the fourth tale in a story arc I have created for Riddick that tries to fill in some of the space left by the movies while staying within the canon (universe and timeline) laid out by Universal Studios. Most stories in this arc are stand-alone with only minor references to previous stories so if you haven't read "what came before" this one don't sweat it :o).  
** ¤ - **This story is based entirely upon Johns' Chase Log, and at the time this story was started, the game Dark Athena was not even a blip on the screen, therefore the events of that game are not referenced in this story.

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**REVIEWS ALWAYS APPRECIATED!  
**(Good or bad, I value them all, but specific and/or constructive are especially treasured)

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**Nigh Unto Christmas**

By Amita4ever

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**Prologue – Part 1**

**CHASE LOG: JOHNS, WILLIAM J. – TARGET: Richard B Riddick **(¤1)

**3 ****DAYS OUT**- Suppose I should wonder why I'm alive. I got some distance between Butcher Bay and us in Hoxie's ship before Riddick dosed me and left me for dead. It's lucky I don't die easy.

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**7 DAYS OUT**- Tracked the S.O.B. to some bombed out mess of a planet. If New Mecca offered free dry cleaning I think they'd get every wretch in the system. There's no Riddick here... It's too damn bright.

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**13 ****DAYS OUT**- I'm headed for Tangiers Penal. It's home to the highest-running bounties and some pretty fine spiced noodles. Doubt they have any leads. You know I can see Riddick's goggled ass every time I close my eyes and start to drift. I'm watching out for other mercs... I don't wanna play partners... one named Dresden.

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**14 ****DAYS OUT**- I keep running past preachers and children headed for New Mecca. Lucky bastards with a clean conscience I guess. But then what do I have to atone for anyway? Maybe too much to mention... My biggest sin... Yeah, not catching Riddick yet.

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**18 ****DAYS OUT**- Bored as shit. Fuel line's down again. Waiting for repair. It's as thick as thieves around here, but no Riddick. Another day lost. Riddick's gotta be in the next system by now. Dammit. 17 for 17. He's not gonna be my first loss.

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**20 ****DAYS OUT**- I tracked him to the marketplace at Aquila Major. Stupid. I caught him trying to hide in the crowds. It's an easy mistake. Thinks there's safety in numbers. Thinks I'm stupid. But every rock has it's scum - and scum has eyes. They also get greedy. Now there's three dead bodies here and still no Riddick.

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**25 ****DAYS OUT**- On the look out for Dresden - imitator, jackass. Tangiers poster boy this month, my ass. Thinks he knows how this job gets done. Who's he ever busted... He knows shit. He's not even close to the scent... Doesn't have that cold metal tickle on his spine.

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**26 ****DAYS OUT**- I'm standing on a ghost ship just outside of the shipping lanes. Nothing but death here. Nothin' I ain't seen before. Looks like a group of Rykengolls tried to hijack... Eh, they're lousy fighters anyway... And now Riddick has a faster ship. Those damn pirates.

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**27 ****DAYS OUT**- This is going to be sketchy. My right hand's all busted. A real cheap shot. Caught up to him at a brothel on the outskirts... Damn his night vision. At least I'm being taken care of - my sources have all sorts of talents.

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**39 ****DAYS OUT**- I'm getting ripped to shit chasing this animal. Torqued my ankle. Damn he can run. I gotta remember to shoot first. Shoot first Johns. Think gun - then run. I think I'm starting to like the dope too much.

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**40 ****DAYS OUT**- Trying to avoid dark places for now. I need time to heal up. Those shiny globes inside my head. Should have learned my lesson at Butcher Bay. I need to reload. Need to get more... Of everything...

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**47 ****DAYS OUT**- I took a week to get right. Keep doping that eye, doc says. Problem is, I'm the only doc I know. I'm finding traces of Riddick everywhere... And Dresden, too. Gotta trade up on my transport.

(¤1) – John's Chase Log taken from TCoR: Pitch Black DVD bonus features (c) to Universal Studios

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**Prologue – Part 2**

**The Other Side**

_Been twenty days since we cut fence on Butcher Bay. Still not sure why he took me __**there**__. Bad blood between Johns and the warden, Hoxie. Old score. Johns seemed to think the Hox would want me bad enough to forget. He was wrong. Hoxie liked the idea of adding one Richard B Riddick to his collection just fine, but Johns was about as welcome as an on board virus. Who'd have ever thought I'd have something in common with a warden. 'Course by the time we left I wasn't too welcome myself, although I doubt the warden minded anymore. Hard to mind anything when you're dead. _

_I was hopin' Johns was dead too. Should have been. Butcher Bay wasn't kind to him. It looked like he'd picked up a stash of Morphine from the med-bay to get him by. Few days after we put Butcher Bay behind us I dosed him with enough to wipe out three men and left him to rot. Don't know why he didn't die. Probably can't. Ain't no way they'd ever let his nickel-badge butt in the Pearly Gates, and the devil's probably afraid to have him in Hell. With all the shit he's done there's gotta be a payday on his ugly horned head somewhere, and Johns'd be just the one to try and collect it. So where's that leave me? Hell on the run, that's where. Just when I started thinking I could slow down for a few days, there's Johns in the marketplace. Got real ugly real quick. Whatta ya bet the bodies get added to __**my**__ kill sheet._

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_21 days, I'm in space and hurtin'. After I slipped Johns in the market, I was off_ _Aquila Major within the hour. Some idiot left his engines idling at the spaceport, at least I thought he was an idiot till I got the thing outta the atmosphere. That's what I get for bein' in a hurry. This shitty little crate hauler is leakin' air at every seam and now diagnostic's is tellin' me there's a heat shield malfunction. Figure I've got 4, maybe 5 days air left. Need 7. Some choice. Stay up and suck vacuum, or go down and burn. Damned if I do and damned if I don't. I can hear God laughing. Thinks He finally got rid of Richard B Riddick. Dunno, maybe He has._

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_Day 24 and O-2 never smelled so fine. That damn cosmic sadist nearly pulled it off but I'm still alive. Near thing, though. Air was starting ta get pretty thin. Real considerate of them pirates showing up when they did, so I returned the favor. Couldn't fix the ship, so I fixed them. Now they don't mind tradin' ships cause they're not gonna need the air anyway. They even anted up a bit of cash. Can make use of that too._

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_After 27 days on the run, you'd think a man could find one night's peace. Had to stop for fuel and food. Figured one night of relaxation couldn't hurt, after all Johns had no idea what I was flyin' but who needs the ship when you can tag the pilot. I suspect one of the ladies was in tight with him, hell, maybe the whole damn brothel. I thought they were glad to see me. Thought I knew why, but I wasn't thinking with my brain. If it hadn't been dark... Won't make that mistake again. Don't think Johns will either._

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_35 days of playing cat & mouse with Johns and now I think there's a new player in the mix. Either that or Johns is getting' real good cause I'm starting to think he's in two places at once. Maybe I'm just getting' paranoid, then again if you're not paranoid playin' this game, you're dead. Ain't seen the other face yet, just felt him whispering on my tail. Doesn't seem ta have a good lock on me yet and I aim to keep it that way._

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_Day 37. Yeah, new player confirmed. Some guy named Dresden. He's good, but he ain't got John's personal understandin' of Richard B Riddick. That gives me the advantage. Time to give the guy a few pop quizzes; see what he knows. I grade pass or fail. Fail you're dead._

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_It's been near 40 days since I got a good night's sleep. Damn, this is getting' old. If it ain't Johns, it's Dresden and if it ain't Dresden, it's Johns. If I'm lucky Johns'll kill himself. He seemed a little dull in that last foot race. Was chasing me and went down hard. Think he messed up his ankle. Wish he'd busted his head instead. I'm taking a toll on him, but I gotta admit he's taking a toll on me. Need to get myself some breathing room. Hafta see if I can't find a way ta play both ends against the middle._

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_46 days since Butcher Bay. Been almost a week since I saw the blue-eyed bastard this time around. I'm hoping he crawled under some rock to die, but I doubt it. No break though, not with Dresden on my heels. Time to end this game. Dresden thinks he's been getting close, but I've just been learning his limitations. He's got a few._

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_Day 47 and I'm breathin' a little easier. Good thing Dresden and Johns didn't partner up. Someone workin' with Johns would've known better than to follow __**me**__ anywhere __**dark**__. Yeah, Johns has learned that lesson too well. Dresden? It was test time. He failed. Time to skip this oversize moon; better yet skip the system. Need to get to the Space Station. Find something with long range. Two short-hop transports leaving tomorrow – One way or another, I'll be on one of 'em. _

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**Chapter 1**

**Whispers in the Dark**

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Riddick crossed the courtyard scanning the shadows. Hanging out in public places had its detriments. Lots of folks meant clutter and distraction, but it also meant more eyes and you never knew which ones might latch onto you for whatever reason - and Riddick knew his build and goggles gave some more reason. There was just no way he could pass for common. The alternative was late. Fewer people, fewer eyes, but they couldn't help but see you. On the plus side, if it was dark they might not see much so when he could, he chose the latter. It was even better if he could manage it like he was now – O dark of the morning when most were still sleeping.

The place had probably been pretty once. A quaint triangular little sidewalk mall with carved arches on three sides, lots of little shops and restaurants opening into a trellised court with tables and benches shaded by cultivated vines that ran rampant through the overhead gridding providing a fragrant green roof... but that was a long time ago. It was dead now, the planters dry, most the shops boarded, most the lights broken, empty – dark and empty, just the way he liked it.

One of the few things that still functioned as intended was the information kiosk. The things were built to be nigh on indestructible, and he supposed even the underbelly of society appreciated information, at least enough to leave the kiosk alone. As he approached the information stand in one corner of the court, tucked within a little alcove formed of brittle trellises, he saw two figures in the shadows. As he approached they stepped back a little deeper. He wanted to laugh - the idiots had chosen a dead end corner for their meeting - but he didn't. They wanted to be just as invisible as he, and as long as they thought they were they would mind their own business. He ignored them, even going so far as to put his back to them as he accessed the kiosk, all the while hyper aware on anything from their direction. He knew there were two transports leaving the spaceport the next day. All he needed were details.

He activated the kiosk well aware that the light from the screen was now illuminating his face inside his hood. He was grateful the men were behind him and that the old trellis with it's long dead plants offered some screening from the front. The first thing he did was run the travel-cash card he'd picked up through the machine to check the balance. Handy thing when you ran across 'em. A lot of times the purchaser wouldn't bother to change the pass-code, they'd just hang onto the original packaging with the default code printed on it and when they did, it made things real easy for a thorough thief. The owner of this card wouldn't miss it, at least not for the next 2 or 3 days till he came down off his high, and by then it would be too late. There were a lot of good reasons not to get stoned in a cheap hotel – getting robbed was the least of them, but it was all Riddick had inflicted on the oblivious tourist. The amount on the card was not as high as he would've liked, but it might be sufficient if he could do some finagling.

The first ship scheduled to leave was the Togwotee. Medium class transport, fairly recent commission, leaving at 05:45 in the morning. The fare fees were a little high, but Riddick wasn't after the usual fare. A notation indicated the captain was looking to hire on some extra security, but that didn't interest Riddick. Security meant background check, even if just a cursory one. On the other hand, he didn't mind doing grunt work if it got him on board and that kind of want-ad wasn't always listed.

He had just begun to glance at the second transport when a faint whisper clear enough to understand came to him. Convinced of his ignorance, or at least his apathy, the two behind him had been confident enough to continue their business in low almost inaudible voices. On occasion Riddick could pick out a word or two, it let him keep tabs on their position without looking, but this time he heard a phrase. Perhaps one of the men, in his enthusiasm, had raised his voice just a fraction. Perhaps one of the dead leaves on the trellis had caught the sound just so, funneling it to Riddick's ear. For whatever the reason he heard it, "...kids'll fetch a premium price."

His mind rapidly went through the possible angles on the phrase, but there were only a few that made any sense considering the circumstances of the discussion and they fired a slow rage in the pit of Riddick's gut. Riddick paid no further attention to the screen in front of him even though he continued to select options from the menu on occasion. Instead he focused his entire attention on the conversation occurring behind him. He couldn't seem to catch another phrase, but he did pick up several words over the next minute's discussion, "...orphanage..." "...Ephrathah..." "...lure..." "...dust..." "...down-pay..." "...accept." There was some faint rustling of movement, then one of the figures exited the alcove. Keeping to the shadows he walked slowly and carefully toward the nearest archway. _Stupid_, Riddick thought, _and impatient._

Part way the man misstepped, something crunched underfoot, and he froze. Riddick looked up as would be expected - careful to put his face in shadow - and scanned the darkness as would be expected, then finally went back to the kiosk as if he had seen nothing to alarm him, and indeed he hadn't. The man was average build, single weapon visible – a pistol - and stood eyes wide like a frightened rodent waiting to see if he'd be discovered. Riddick's violet vision saw the topography of the man's face clearly and he even recognized a faint fading flush that told him this man liked his bottles, but there had been nothing to alarm him. After a few minutes of Riddick's continued "unawareness" he heard the man resume movement, and soon disappear through the archway. After a few minutes more Riddick let the second man make his escape by a different route. Briefly, faintly, Riddick caught a familiar aroma on the breeze and then the second man was gone leaving the convict alone with his thoughts in the darkness.

The aroma motivated him. Out of curiosity Riddick accessed the news bank and typed in "orphanage." He got five hits from the local paper. They were all regarding the Mother of Hope Orphanage's fight against and subsequent loss to the Imminent Domain proceedings initiated by the local government. It seemed that the nuns of the order had taken the tract of scrap land they had been given and, after decades of effort, turned it lush and productive, even managing to cultivate an impossibly rare orchard of Orange trees. It wasn't too many years after that the government decided there were better uses for the land than an orphanage. The last article, however, announced a happy ending to the dilemma as another planet in the system had heard of the orphanage's plight and had generously offered them a spacious new home. The governing bodies of Lupis 5 had been all too happy to accommodate the move and had booked the orphanage, some 50 plus kids and keepers, on a transport leaving... Riddick checked the date... tomorrow!

Pieces started to fall together. He'd been distracted by the conversation behind him before he'd even begun to read up on the second transport, but there was one thing he had noticed. Part of the name was Ephrathah.

**Fandom  
****Fandom**


	2. Chapter 2: Slow Boat

(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick, as stated in COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)

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**Chapter 2**

**Slow Boat**

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Riddick stood over the matronly captain. The woman was almost old enough to be his mother, if he had one and she'd started early. He put her 40 something, of course counting cryotime there was no telling how many years she'd actually seen. Some of the long running captains of deep space transports were literal living history. The ones that made long range their career, however, got just a little strange and distant – too much ice in their veins it was said - but this old gal looked like she could still run hot if she wanted too. She wasn't petite, but she was shorter than he and that forced her to look up slightly. It added to the intimidation factor. The goggles added more, as did her assumptions of him. He hated mercenaries, swore he'd never be one again, but he could still play the part. It put a more familiar face on something even as unusual as him, and the more familiar the less memorable.

He watched the captain glance at him again, trying to find a gaze to catch but she saw only herself in the dark glass. She was frightened. Had every right to be, and he knew it, but he couldn't tell by watching her. Anyone seeing the exchange would think she did business with muscle bound, black goggled mercs with a knife in their belt every day. It was clear she knew how to deal with folk, how to keep her emotions reined, and that she wasn't about to let unease get in the way of her bottom line. Only her scent gave her away; musk, lube oil, and garlic soured with sweat and cheap soap, all overlaid with a sharp edge of nervousness.

That, and his eyes. He'd had these new eyes less than a year and he was still learning the subtleties of his new vision, the varying pinks and purples like an off-color night scope, but these eyes saw more. He had no idea what color the captain's skin was or the color of her hair. To him the woman glowed varied shades of fuchsia, with her cheeks down into her neck gone whitish, a skin reaction he was coming to recognize as fear. He didn't mind. Intimidation had it's uses and he **had** to get on **this** transport for more than one reason, not the least of which being that damn blue-eyed, badge spitting merc who wanted to haul one Richard B Riddick back to slam.

Of course, if he laid it on too thick, she might decide not to let him on at all, especially with her main cargo being kids this time. He backed off marginally. "Look," Riddick tried not to growl, "I don't give a damn if you're out of cabins. That ain't what I'm asking for. I know how far that credit'll go and a cabin ain't on the menu. Gimme one square a day and a blanket. I'll sleep in the hold, outta the way and I won't give nobody grief that don't give it to me first." He made sure he didn't sound desperate, but he was. Johns could climb out of his hole anytime and Riddick knew he was being stupid again.

"The main hold isn't insulated for live cargo, and the secondary hold has other uses this trip," she countered.

"I'll manage," Riddick interrupted.

She continued on as if he hadn't spoken, "...but there's a spare cot in the engine section you can use if you'll help my engineer with any heavy lifting that comes along."

_A real bed for a little labor. _Riddick thought, _That's doable._ He grunted his assent and after glancing him over appraisingly the captain's fingers began to tap on her palm pad figuring if the meager sum he'd offered would meet her price. She seemed to be tapping a little longer than he expected, her brow furrowed as she worked out some complex equation. As fine a line as her operation appeared to run, he suspected she was already figuring out just how much more fuel she'd need to break gravity with his added bulk and was factoring it in to see if his credits would cover it. He didn't begrudge her that and if it wasn't quite enough he knew it would serve as a down payment. He'd have to 'acquire' the remainder by morning.

He was almost surprised when she flipped the palm pad around for him to tap in 'his' pass code and the machine whirred. It spit out 'his' travel-cash card and a key card soon followed. She handed him both without further discussion. "The men on my ship get three squares," she said as she slipped the palm pad into its belt holster with practiced ease, "If you don't have a place to sleep tonight the cots available, otherwise lift off's at 13:45; don't be late. We don't come back for stragglers and we don't give refunds."

She started to turn away as Riddick looked at his key card, this time genuinely surprised. As he expected for room designation it said, "Special: see Captain," nor did he have any 'privileges,' not that this ship had much to offer, but under meals there were indeed 3 per 24 hour rotation. "My credit don't cover this much food," he said curiously. If she hadn't said something he would've let it go and chalked it up to a lucky error, but she had, and he knew if he took the quota allotted him by this key card, her take for his slot would run into red.

"I know," the captain grinned back over her shoulder as she walked away, "Merry Christmas."


	3. Chapter 3: Stuck With Me

(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick, as stated in COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)

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**CHAPTER 3**

**Stuck with me**

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It was getting on toward morning by the time Riddick made his way back to the only transport left at the docks. The other transport, the Togwotee, had left early. Although Riddick had been offered the cot, he hadn't seen a bed this night. He'd been occupied with more important tasks, and now he stood for a moment to look over the remaining vessel in the light of a new day. The ship before him was a far cry above scrap, but it had very obviously seen a good many years of service and needed some work.

It wasn't that the ship was old that bothered him, as transports went it would serve fine. It was that of the two transports leaving Lupis 5, this had been the slower one and even had a later departure time. He was still trying to reconcile in his mind that he had actually taken passage on this ship. To top it off he'd just spent his last 50 credits getting a man drunk to get information that had everything to do with this ship, and nothing to do with putting distance between himself and Johns. He wondered if the sleep deficit of forty-eight too-short or too-long nights might not be catching up with him. Still, he'd made his choice and Riddick wasn't one to look back on decisions that couldn't be changed so swinging his duffle up over his shoulder, he mounted the gangplank.

A crewman met him somewhat warily, and the key card Riddick flashed did little to mollify the man's suspicious nature. He ran it through the ship's computer twice to confirm Riddick's passage, especially when the price of that passage appeared on the screen. Finally he handed the card back and grudgingly welcomed Riddick aboard.

Riddick could care less whether he was welcome or not. What he did want was to talk to the Captain. The man didn't like Riddick asking where the woman was, but with the berth notation on Riddick's key card reading, "Special: See Captain," he had no justifiable way to withhold the information. "Captain Maw's in the cargo hold," the man finally muttered without offering directions, but Riddick didn't need any. One transport was pretty much like the rest, and he'd been on enough to navigate the differences.

The interior of the ship was well kept to the extent that finances allowed. The walls were clean, the corridors swept and things were generally in good repair. That didn't surprise him. The Captain seemed like that sort of person, and that boded well for the engines.

He was deep into the interior and starting to pick up the distant whine of hover-lifts when a sudden high-pitched shriek echoed down the corridor toward of him followed by a small stampede of feet. A bundle of energy topped by red hair came barreling around the corner toward him, closely followed by another – this one blonde. As the little red haired dynamo streaked past him in the hall she reached out and hooked his leg above the knee. Pulling hard she altered her trajectory and spun in neatly behind him. The girl taunted her opponent from between Riddick's knees and he quickly lifted his duffle high before one or the other discovered what was in it the hard way as the blonde tried the grab the girl around his leg causing her to dodge to the other side.

He stood there mildly nonplussed as the children dodged and feinted around him until a woman came around the corner. She took the situation in with a single glance then her face went stern even as her eyes smiled. "Keesha! Bryan! Leave the poor man alone. He hasn't even found his bunk and your already treating him like a jungle gym."

Riddick heard a chorus of, "Sorry, mister," then the red head bolted back down the hall the way she'd come with the blonde in hot pursuit.

The woman was still watching them when she stepped up and offered Riddick her hand. It wasn't until she turned her full attention to their victim that she saw **what** she was offering her hand to. Her motion checked, caught midway between advance and retreat, then she bravely continued forward. "I'm sorry, mister..." her voice trailed off hesitantly.

"Smith," Riddick answered flatly as he took her hand and let his duffle slide back down to his shoulder.

"Smith," she muttered under her breath taking her hand back as soon as propriety allowed, "how original."

"Maybe you'd prefer Jones," Riddick smirked.

She was startled, surprised to be heard over the ship's ambient noise, then she nervously glanced him over again. "No, Smith's fine," she agreed hurriedly, then laughed trying to recover her poise, "I'm Holly Barons, the on board teacher at large and part time bottle washer."

"Yer gonna have yer hands full," he commented jutting his chin in the direction the whirlwinds disappeared.

"More than you know," Holly agreed. She almost seemed grateful to be considering something she might find more intimidating than him, "We're transporting a whole orphanage this time around."

"Heard something about that," Riddick acknowledged, then he smiled. He knew full well the effect caused by THAT smile, and it was only amplified by the goggles, "They give you any trouble, you let me know. I'll take care of 'em." Holly's eyes widened in shock unsure if he was joking or serious, and into that silence Riddick inserted, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need ta find the captain," and he brushed by leaving her wondering. With any luck, that little comment would have the teacher warning kids to give the big merc with goggles a wide berth.

He found the captain in the cargo bay just as reported. She was standing on the supervisor's platform. The raised vantage gave her a good view of the deep pit used to hold cargo bins in huge racks, but the main action was going on in front of her. A huge hydraulic pulley and lift system had raised one of the racks from the pit to be loaded and two manned hover-lifts maneuvered bins measuring 10 meters square into slots in the rack. It wasn't a quiet environment but Riddick didn't bother raising his voice to be heard above the machinery. He simply mounted the ladder, pulling himself up on the platform with envious ease.

Such a breach of protocol would earn him a hasty glare or even a reprimand on some ships, but this captain didn't even glance at him. She shifted over to make room without taking her eyes off the hover-lifts in front of her. "No, Rico, Up!** UP**! Another ten meters **up**! Slot **1**D; you know, the one on the top?" she sent over a small headset.

Riddick watched a hover-lift across from them respond, and after a few more commands it slid a large blue cargo container up to the correct location as another hover-lift paused in front of a different hole.

"We need to talk," he rumbled.

"Straight to the point," the captain commented without looking at him, "I like that in a man." Riddick could tell his presence still made her chary, but that wasn't the reason she wouldn't look at him. "I'm almost done here," then touching her headset she announced, "Left, Simon, point three meters. Watch the lip." The second hover-lift adjusted his trajectory and slid the cube neatly in its slot instead of taking out the partition. "Damn, I'm good," she muttered as she logged the number and location of the bins, "but if I don't get that aligner replaced soon it's going to cost a whole lot more to repair a rack." She sighed, "Patience, Maw, patience. One thing at a time," then she looked up as Simon pulled the woven netting that secured the bin in the slot down over the opening. "Great job!" The captain sent over the headset, "Stow the rack and lock it down, then get the floors laid. Don't forget to leave a hole so we can put the hover-lifts in the pit – we'll seal the whole thing once they're secure. And, Simon, don't forget to have Benjamin winterize those engines before we lock them down. They're going to be stored in the cold this trip since we need the room topside for bedrolls and I don't want anything freezing."

Riddick heard the crewmen respond, then the Captain took off her headset and secured it in the supervisor's locker. "Galley's open. You eaten yet?" she asked over her shoulder.

Riddick was keenly aware that the galley was open. He'd passed it just before entering the hold and even under the fumes and residues of heavy equipment he was aware of scents wafting from the galley, just as he was aware that his galley privileges wouldn't start until lift off. After dealing with Dresden, Riddick's breakfast yesterday had consisted of the candy bars and protein strips in the bounty hunter's pockets; saving money for passage had taken on a higher priority than food. Then after what he'd overheard... after he bought his ticket... information had become the objective. The bar he found it in had bowls of some synthetic nut crap on the tables, but Riddick knew better than to eat it. No nutrition to speak of. It just made you want more to drink. That left him high and dry, but he'd gone longer. "Outta credits," he said simply, "but I'll get by."

That earned him a speculative glance. Maw knew she'd left him with 50 credits to spare. He didn't look like he'd gone shopping and although she smelled alcohol, he didn't seem drunk. She knew there were things a man could spend money on that left him little but memories if he were lucky, but her gut told her that wasn't where it'd gone. "We'll put it on the Captain's tab," she said as she turned and stored the cargo manifest in the locker with the headset, "I hear she's a real push over."

The galley was back just on the other side of the wall, and Riddick was quite willing to follow her there. As soon as the door between the hold section and ship was shut the noise level surprisingly dropped back down to tolerable permitting them to hear "Hey, Maw" called out by a few voices as they entered in the galley. It was not overly busy and the easy camaraderie in their tones was hampered only slightly by her choice of companion. People sat scattered about the room at long tables that could be folded into the walls when necessary. Others waiting in line indicated they were quite willing to move aside and give the Captain and her intimidating escort priority, but the captain shook her head declining the privilege. The two of them took their places at the end and Riddick folded his arms across his chest, his forbidding countenance sufficient to discourage any who might have been inclined to talk with Captain Maw.

"You know, I'm still not quite sure why you're here." Forbidden her normal fare of conversation, the Captain turned her attention instead to Riddick, "You **do** know you could have gotten berth on the Togwotee and had room, board and passage paid, don't you? Ever since some bounty hunter found a ship full of dead Rakengoll pirates floating derelict 20 odd days ago everyone's been a little nervous. No one knows who killed them, so those that can afford it are taking on extra guard just in case. I know Captain Soyt was hiring, and you certainly look like you could have handled the job."

_Had to be Johns,_ Riddick decided. _That merc's eyes may be blue, but they see green._ _He'd keep dead mouth on anything that might draw competition, even if it'd end up costing others._ Of course Riddick knew he was no more likely to shed any light on the subject if for differing reasons. It'd get figured out soon enough. "Security's not my line of work. I don't like people pokin' in behind me," he answered, and she understood him well enough.

She glanced at him critically taking in everything from his build to his bearing. There was no question he came from a martial background, but whether trained merc or formal military was not immediately evident, nor for her purposes, did it really matter. There were a lot of reasons a man might not want his background checked into, but one in particular boded ill for him and anyone near him when his guild or government came looking for him. "You're not AWOL are you?"

Riddick shook his head. "Served time, but I'm out now." Inwardly the convict grinned, _Yeah, **out**, as opposed to **IN** where they want me_, "So I don't think Soyt would've been comfortable handin' me a weapon."

They had reached the head of the line, so for a few moments they let their attention shift to filling trays. Riddick knew what he wanted, but restrained himself. The Captain was already being overly generous and he didn't need her thinking she would regret her decision in space. Captains made their own laws there. She **wanted** him on board, and his being well fed was to her advantage, but she didn't know that yet... and until it actually went down feeding him the way he wanted to eat would seem an undue burden. Even so she must have noticed something because she ordered the server to put another serving of protein waffles on his plate. At the moment he didn't know if Maw was taking pity or hoping to placate a beast, but if it got him food he didn't care.

"Put his on mine, Sheila," Maw told the girl at the end who was swiping cards. The girl didn't look more than 16, and bore a striking resemblance to the crewman who met Riddick at the door.

"Family ship?" he asked as they turned toward the tables.

"Yeah, 27 adults, 13 kids, and a few in between right now. We're an eclectic collection," Maw confirmed, "Everyone's got a story, and here on the 'Beth' everyone's got a home. A few were hires, but most of them came on like yourself, strapped for cash but needing to get off planet for whatever reason and ended up staying to fill a niche in the crew. We're all family now."

_She almost makes it sound worth fighting for. Damn if it isn't Carawa all over again, only smaller, _Riddick thought,_ at least this time everyone knows the bastards are bad, not that it'll make a difference._

"So," the captain said as she selected an empty table, "is that what we needed to talk about? Something in this record of yours you want me to know about?"

"No," Riddick answered shortly, "but there is somethin' about this trip you oughta be aware of." He spoke in low rumble that sent a chill down the captain's back. It stopped her before she could sit and she stared at him as he added, "You may not want other ears in on this yet."

The captain thought quickly, trying to judge the tone, the attitude, then decided to take a chance. "My ready room is not far from here." She picked up her tray and turned to lead the way.

It wasn't far, and after Riddick entered she shut the door. Riddick glanced around seeing a curious juxtaposition of clutter and business. The working surfaces were organized and clean, but pictures and curios, all seemingly made by smaller hands, dominated one short wall and every flat surface not dedicated to another purpose. "Bad news sits better on a full stomach," she said as she came up behind him, "We'll eat first," and Riddick didn't argue.

The captain moved a few items off the tac-table to make room for him and watched the man put away two servings of waffles, a bowl of local melon, two slices of toast and a small pile of synthetic eggs as if they were nothing, and she wondered how long it had been since he'd eaten. Whatever his credits had been spent on, it wasn't food.

When they were done the captain took the trays of empty dishes and set them on a table by the door, and when she turned around again her guest had moved. He was no longer sitting at the tac-table, but had gotten up and now leaned against the back of his chair with his arms folded across his chest as he studied the progressive display of the Conga System floating before one wall... and she realized she had heard nothing of his movement.

"You're first stop this trip is Conga's space station," he opened the discussion.

"That's where you booked passage to. Why? You have other plans?" she asked warily as she eased herself over to main chair at the tac-table and the communication station tied in there. He glanced at her - and the comm. station - with pointed nonchalance then returned his attention to the display leaving Maw with the dreadful feeling that even seated on top of the comm. would not give her time to call for help if this man intended to stop her.

"Things being where they're at," he looked over the current position of the various planets and astral bodies, "I'm guessing you're planning this route," he pointed at the system display and proceeded to tell her the exactly what she had logged into her navigational computer.

It was unnerving, then Maw got angry with herself for reacting to him. Yes, he was intimidating, and yes, that voice of his sent shivers down her spine for more than one reason, but she had no call reacting to his knowledge of her plans this way. The average customer didn't know the shipping routes, that was true, but it wasn't as if they were secret. The Conga System was very good about keeping the ships that used its main shipping lanes protected. They charged a toll for the use of the safe spaceways to cover the costs of maintaining the patrols, but the fees were reasonable, and most ships paid them gladly enough. This information was readily available so captains knew where they find safe passage; passengers could double check that their ride was logged to take a secure route and pirates knew where they were taking their chances.

It was the smaller toll-free lanes, and the shortcuts that could get dangerous. That was where the ship was found, on one of those riskier shipping tracks, but a ship with 23 dead pirates piled up on it like so many spent fuel rods was enough to make anyone nervous. Since no one had stepped up to claim responsibility for "ridding the spaceways of pirate scum," rumors abounded, everything from a new breed of pirate moving in to, the most far fetched of them, that it was the work of one man. It didn't really matter which rumor you heard; none of them were reassuring, and she supposed that had a great deal to do with her being on edge.

"Yes," Maw acknowledged, "Our route is no secret."

He approached the display and stared at one section closely. "Communications gets sketchy thru here," he commented reaching out to twist his hand through a thick cloud on the display and his gesture caused everything to expand as that portion was magnified to reveal their route through the dust in greater detail. He was absolutely right. The range of communications and visibility were both greatly shortened going through the thick belt of refractive dust. Conga had wanted to set the shipping route around it, but much of commerce wouldn't stand for the delay so instead the system had beefed up patrols in the area narrowing the distance between the check points and charged a higher fee for that route to cover the additional expenses, "Can you skirt it?"

Maw gave the question no consideration whatsoever. "Negative," she said, "Going around would add three to four weeks to the trip and I've got cargo with a deadline."

"Can you afford to give that part over?" he followed up, "Let someone else haul it?"

Maw stared at him, trying to figure his angle, then said, "No. Priorton Constructs is looking for a regular carrier and thinks the Togwotee is weighing in on the mid-side of pricey. If we can prove the 'Beth' can get their gear where they want it for less we'll earn a long term contract. That'll pay bills and open doors. We default on this trial shipment and I might as well hit high orbit and open the air locks. Results'd be similar, just quicker." The captain leaned back on the edge of the tac-table, "If you hadn't noticed this ship is running a relatively fine line right now..."

He'd noticed.

"...We've been eking by for years," she continued, "but an older ship needs extra babying, and we're reaching the point that partial loads and the occasional deadhead back aren't just dipping into savings, their eating them alive. A new ship down the way would be nice, but there's no chance of that happening unless we've got steady income from a dependable source. That's what Priorton is offering. We nail this run and things'll change; fail and we may lose everything. No one can afford that. Most this crew isn't what the Conga System considers hirable, at least not at the wages they need. Many have records, but they also have families. We all need this ship, and failing this run means keeping it is questionable."

Riddick heard it in her voice, a 'rather die trying' attitude he knew would be near impossible to change and he respected that.

"Besides," she shrugged, "the only other ship that could have taken it left early this morning and there won't be another for at least a week. Priorton needs this shipment, and we need Priorton so we're going Hell or full flare. No other options."

Riddick nodded, then looked around the ready room as if it could answer his next question. There were a set of old military awards on the wall – a dishonorable discharge that contrasted oddly with the distinguished service, meritorious deeds, and other commendable sort of crap around it. One of them looked like some sort of 'heroism under fire' from some war he'd never heard of. Might mean the woman could keep her head in a crisis.

"This crate hauler got any weapons to speak of?" he inquired casually.

Maw was starting to give him wary looks for a whole new set of reasons, but she wasn't ready to abandon the conversation. "Nothing beyond a meteor cannon for clearing debris from our path. We always use the safe tracks and we've never hauled anything tempting enough for pirates to risk the patrols."

_That'd changed._ "Then your gonna need ta pick up some extra disinfectant," he informed her.

The captain looked at him suspiciously, "Why? What are we going to be cleaning up?"

"Blood," the goggled man stared at her through his impenetrable eyewear "Likely a lot of it."

Maw watched his face for any sign that this was some joke or prank, but she saw nothing. It was not the first time she cursed those damn goggles he wore. "Maybe," she said pointedly," you had better explain."

Riddick pulled his shoulders back stretching the muscles across his chest as he rolled his neck feeling the effects of night 48 on top of 47 others and a decent meal. He was tired. Maw's expression didn't change, but flush and fear fought for dominance in her face. Riddick smirked as he swung the chair he'd been sitting in around and straddled it, laying his arms over the back. "It seems yer little orphan train has caught some attention," he said casually as if he were discussing the latest holo-flick instead of a threat to the ship, "kids bring top dollar on the slave market, and you've got around 70 pieces of prime flesh on board this trip. Seems that's worth riskin' the patrols."

Maw felt her knees go weak, and she slid over to her chair and sat down hard. "How would you know this?" she asked accusingly.

"Wrong place, wrong time," he answered with some small measure of what sounded like bitterness, "overheard part of a meeting. Asked a few questions to the right man last night and got some details."

Maw suddenly understood the missing credits and smell of alcohol, and didn't know what to think. Her every instinct pegged this man a killer, and she knew she wasn't wrong in that regard – mercs by their nature were - but her gut had told her he was a "safe killer," if there was such a thing, meaning he wouldn't kill anyone so long as he wasn't crossed or paid. Her gut also told her some muscle wouldn't be a bad thing on this trip, but... She almost wanted to laugh. It sounded a whole hell of a lot like an answer to Sister Clara's prayer when the nun had insisted she be allowed to pray over the ship and had asked God to protect them and provide anything needed to ensure their journey would be a safe one. If one believed in such things... Did she?

"What are the details?" she asked trying to keep her voice steady.

"It'll be at least a two ship job. Sometime after you hit the dust the first ship'll put out a distress signal and pull the patrol off point. They got some kind of tech that's suppose to make a ship 'slippery,' hard to lock on in a fight, but they found out the dust enhances the effect; make's them near invisible to scanners too. Before you can get in range of the next, they'll blind side you, do a forced boarding."

_That's why no one's been able to find them! That's why all the sweeps by the patrols keep missing them!_ The captain thought with surprise.

"They'll take the kids, decent women, anyone else they can and kill the rest. If they have time they'll try to push yer ship off the lane into the dust. If they can't," he shrugged, "won't matter. By the time you miss the next checkpoint and they start lookin' it'll be too late."

Captain Maw was glad she was sitting down. "You got anything I can take to the authorities? A name? A face?" She knew without something to corroborate the claim she'd get mixed results. Conga's system didn't fire well under anonymous tips and she couldn't afford to pay for an escort otherwise.

The merc shook his head. "I ain't a good reference," he said flatly reminding her of his aversion to anyone looking into his background, "Man was a drunk, but he was a functional drunk. Thought he was holding his tongue," the merc smiled dangerously, "Just didn't know who he was jawin' with. When we was done drinking I followed him to the 'port and watched him take off after the Togwotee launched. Thought about interfering more," by which Maw assumed he meant actually capturing the man, "but figured better not make 'em change their game plan now when we knew what it was."

There was logic to that. Even if the authorities had the man in custody, there was no guarantee it would help her. Extracting information took time, acting on it took more, and pirates had been captured before with little to show for it. Forewarned **was** very possibly the best defense at the moment, except... "We're not mercs," she commented, "We can fight, some better than others, but we don't do it for a living."

The merc grunted his acknowledgement, "Maybe better stock up your med bay too," was all he said, and Maw was struck by his callousness. They were talking about the lives of her crew, of children, and he could have just as easily been suggesting she get some extra melon for the galley. Was life so cheap to him?... and then she forced herself to take a mental step back. He had brought them warning, and he had taken passage on the ship even knowing the pirates' plans. He had not completely disassociated himself from their plight. He had to know as long as he was a passenger he could find himself involved whether he wanted to be or not... unless he knew something more than he was saying.

"We're you planning to help?" she asked carefully.

"I'll be in the mix somewhere," he assured her.

A thought twisted in her stomach like a coiled snake stirring from a nap, "On whose side?"

At that he chuckled, "You think I'd spoil the party, givin' you time ta hire guard before ya lift off, if I was one of them?"

_If you needed information like my route, my weapons, my crew's skills, yes,_ Maw's blood ran cold, "You know I can't afford a guard anymore than I can afford to give up the run." Her gut said trust him, but she had no way to substantiate her gut.

"Well, then," he smirked, "I guess yer stuck with me."

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**WRITER'S NOTES & NEWS:** Intrigued yet? – Is it worth continuing??? Let me know. If no one has told you yet, writers LOVE feedback :o)


	4. Chapter 4: Mr Smith

(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick, as stated in COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)

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**CHAPTER 4 **

**Mr. Smith**

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It had been 24 hours since he set foot on the gangplank, and when lift off finally occurred, the event was mercifully anticlimactic. There were no last minute passengers; blue eyed or otherwise and Riddick had no problem admitting to himself he was relieved. As soon as they hit space he had grabbed a bite and sought his bed. The cot he had been promised had turned out to be not just a cot, but a small room off main engineering intended as the night bunk for an assistant, and it was more than suited to his purposes. He had locked the door and crashed, permitting himself, for the first time in a long time, to _sleep_.

He woke up with a clearer head than he felt he'd had in days and spent a few minutes wondering just what the hell he was doing. There was no question these kids were screwed without him, but Riddick knew Johns was still out there. Wherever the bounty hunter had disappeared to, Riddick wasn't stupid enough to think it was permanent. Johns would be on his trail again, it was only a matter of time, and that was something Riddick was wasting in spades on this ship. His stomach ended his introspection as it growled suggesting there were, perhaps, better uses for the time he had so much of and he glanced at the clock. He'd slept a full sleep cycle plus some. The galley was open again. His choice of ships was something he could not change -– at the moment -- but eating was well within the scope of things.

That's when it started. He wasn't five strides down the corridor when a gentleman he'd never seen before crossed his path. The man edged to the opposite side of the hall, smiled nervously, and offered, "Morning, Mr. Smith." Riddick stared at the man until he fled, but that was only the beginning. Before he'd found his seat Riddick had been greeted by four more people, all just as nervous and unnerved by his stare, but greeted none-the-less. He was used to remaining as unapproachable and anonymous as possible, and he didn't like so many eyes putting his face with a name... ANY name.

Riddick settled himself in the furthest corner of the galley and hunched over his food feeling agitated and restless. He wasn't there to be friendly, and he didn't like anyone making the mistake thinking he was. This sudden popularity was going to put a whole new face on the trip and it made the ship feel like a tighter slam than any prison he'd ever been in. He didn't like it. It started his edge growing, made his animal restless, made him need to be DOING something! But killing things wasn't an option at the moment, and this crate hauler simply wasn't going to move any faster unless he got out and pushed. Yeah, right. At least it felt that way, but as much as the cold indifferent vacuum of space suddenly had a certain appeal, he wasn't ready to step out an airlock... yet.

Nor was trying to turn him into Mr. Congeniality the only thing that had changed on the ship. Prior to dinner the night before someone had rigged up something that looked a bit like a tree and set it up in the corner of the galley. That had caused quite a stir among the kids and Riddick had left as soon as he could, having neither the patience nor the desire to put up with the mayhem. Since then the thing had begun a transformation as people had begun leaving things hanging on its branches.

Metallic strips from the food packaging in the galley now made it sparkle, and as he stood in line to get his breakfast, one of the passengers brought in things made of paper folded into intricate shapes – birds, balls, stars – an ancient craft from old Earth he said as he hung his offerings on the tree. One of the crew families had evidently ransacked the recycler and spent the night wiring and welding together various symbols of the season. Even the Engineer, presumably with the captain's blessing, had hung the thing with a half dozen plasma fuses - fist sized silvery spheres filled pearlescent gas that swirled and rippled in reaction to temperature. Riddick could only wonder what it was about the season that prompted this insanity because those fuses weren't cheap.

And as he ate he saw others file in to leave their do-dads on the tree, and whether they stayed or not, there wasn't a one of them that didn't leave the tree with a smile on their face as if the little ritual had somehow infected them with some disease of the pleasure centers. In fact it seemed like everyone on the whole damn ship was infected... except him. He was just there.

The whole holiday thing was like some episodic plague that had infected humans back on Earth and had been carried with them as they spread. It didn't matter where they settled, certain dates spread with them. These dates were carefully preserved and calculated so that regardless of planetary rotation or solar orbit, wherever humans were they could celebrate these holidays synchronous with Earth Prime. Most planets even published them in their calendars so that regardless of where a person was in the galaxy, they wouldn't miss a single precious holiday. He wondered if anyone remembered just what the hell they were celebrating. Long eared rodents, colored eggs, fat men in red suits, doo-dadded trees...

Yeah. That was predominant among these dates... this thing called Christmas when people were suppose to buy a gift for every person they could put a name to, and do something good for someone they couldn't so they could feel all warm and fuzzy inside. This particular holiday sent people scurrying in a frenzy of shopping as every merchant and retail venture tried to out do the other dragging shoppers in their doors to buy things no one ever needed, but everyone seemed to want.

Kids were a big part of it too, and advertising was quite blatant in suggesting that if you didn't get your child something big and expensive you didn't really care about them. There were very few places that did not become overwhelmed by the commercialized headache. The universal slogan was "Peace, joy and good will to all," but it was a joke. The holiday was mass chaos and Riddick hated it all – in slam and out. It made people unpredictable and he couldn't see that Christmas served any purpose beyond sucking up money, pumping the family angle, and maybe giving the economy a booster shot; and since he had neither money to waste nor family of any sort, it was nothing but a frustration. If it had had any significance at one time, it seemed to have been lost long ago. Just what could all this madness have represented?

It was an idle question to pass the time, but when the galley door suddenly pushed open he had a new diversion, welcome or not, as one of the nuns trooped in with a dozen orphans in her wake. Riddick had seen the woman before. After the rest of the orphanage's junk had been loaded and sectioned off, the remainder of the secondary hold had had been converted into a couple of mob dorms, and it was this woman doing the leading when the orphan train came on board through the main hold airlock. He kept his distance, but curiosity prompted him to watch from the shadows – after all, it was these kids he had put his freedom on the line for.

There was a half dozen nuns of varying shapes and sizes, and assorted other help but this woman had stood out in particular. Not in her appearance - Riddick had little clue as to the nun's shape beyond average as she wore a long loose aproned dress, and likewise her hair was covered by some long scarf - but he could see in the way she moved, even at a distance, that she had a supreme confidence. There were none that dared brook her authority, child or adult, and yet when one of the younger ones fell she was quick to be on her knees beside him, drying his tears with her apron before hoisting him up in her arms.

The same dozen orphans that were with her now had been attached to her then, the younger ones trailing behind her while the older ones were interspersed among the other 40 or so children, but even then Riddick had noted how this dozen fixed on her like a compass in the chaos, responding to her signals like well trained troops. Nor was this dozen completely ordinary in itself. Unlike most the other kids in the orphanage there was a preternatural awareness about these kids that wasn't learned in loving homes. This dozen had the lingering sense of street-rat about them; a sense he was intimately familiar with. Made him wonder a bit about the woman. You didn't earn a street-rat's loyalty with a roof and a bit of food.

When the nun had walked in the galley he had been afraid the room was about to be overrun with kids and had begun weighing the value of his meal against his sanity, but when he saw it was the street-rat brigade he paused. The little gang came in carrying boxes as if they were gold and he knew something was up. "The captain has said we can display our stable anywhere in galley that we please," the nun announced merrily, then turned to the children, "Where should we put it?"

_Stable? As in animals? _Riddick hoped very much it wasn't what it sounded like or there might just be a change of command for the remainder of the trip. There was no way he was sharing his galley with animals.

The children set their boxes down on an empty table and huddled together, their voices revealing their solemn delight at making such an important decision. The eldest, a boy of about 15, listened carefully as each child spoke, and offered his input, but let the youngers carry the discussion. Then, as abruptly as it began, it was over. The youngest of the group, no more than 7, had said nothing as she looked the galley over critically, then she gasped. She pulled on the eldest's sleeve and he knelt to hear her. Surprisingly all the others went dead mouthed as well, and when she was done they all looked and the agreement was instantaneous. "Here," the eldest walked over to one of the tables, "this is the place."

The nun cocked her head and looked at the chosen location. It was neither center stage, nor the best protected. "Why here, Kyle?" she asked curiously.

Kyle grinned, "The light," he answered, "it's different from the others," and as he spoke Riddick looked up cautiously. His goggles automatically adjusted for the intensity of the light filtering it to tolerable levels and he saw the girl was right. The ceiling of the galley was a great open grid of tracks and supports, a continuation of the secondary hold on the other side of the wall, and Riddick suspected the galley wall itself to be movable with the same great hoists that lifted the cargo racks from the pit. The lights were mounted to the grid work in sturdy mirrored housings that collected the illumination shed by the bulbs and directed it downward in broad circles of light, but the light in question looked to have been damaged at some time giving it a curious glare. It illuminated much of the broad circle it was intended, but a portion of the light was refracted back in on a mirrored interior dented and cracked so as to create a curious four pointed halo about the fixture and a concentration of light shining down upon the table. It was a unique effect, subtle but distinctive once noticed. "Ivory saw it. It's the star."

The nun stared at it. "It's perfect," then she smiled, "What are we waiting for?"

The children pounced on the boxes and began unpacking. Soon pieces of sculpture that looked very old, and had every evidence of being hand-made were being revealed. The first sculptures pulled out were two figures, a man and a woman in robes like the people of New Mecca. The man stood with his hands on his chest and head bowed as if in respect while the woman knelt. Another figure was in the box with them, but the little girl Ivory claimed it quickly and stepped back behind the others. "And who is this?" The nun asked as if surprised when she saw the man and woman in the children's hands.

The kids laughed at her sudden 'lapse of memory' and several of the younger children chorused, "Mary and Joseph!"

"And who were they?" the nun asked.

"Mary was just a girl, like me," an older girl said quietly. She didn't appear to be more than 13 or 14.

"Joseph was a carpenter," a boy announced.

"He was also the great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great," another boy piped up ticking off 'great's on his fingers, "great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great..." he faltered, "ah, man, I lost count," then he grinned, "great, great, grandson of King David... or something like that."

The woman nodded, "Right on all counts, and who can tell me what happen to Mary and Joseph?"

Several of the kids tried to talk at once, but Kyle began speaking clearly with purpose and the others quickly fell silent, looking at each other with an air of happy anticipation, "Luke 1:26-36._ God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth, a town in Galilee, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, a descendant of David. The virgin's name was Mary. The angel went to her and said, 'Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you. 'Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. But the angel said to her, 'Do not be afraid, Mary, you have found favor with God. You will be with child and give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever; his kingdom will never end.' 'How will this be,' Mary asked the angel, ' since I have never known a man?'" _

The older girl smothered a giggle.

Kyle continued, _"And the angel answered and said to her, 'The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Highest will overshadow you so that Holy One who is to be born will be called the Son of God.'_"

The girl nudged the one next to her, "Bet that was one wild night," she whispered.

"Lilly!" The nun said, and there was none of the shock or mortification Riddick would have expected, but merely a reprimand. Lilly smiled sheepishly. "Why don't you tell us why this wonderful news became a problem for Mary," the Sister suggested.

"Well," Lilly started hesitantly, "she was betrothed to Joseph..."

"And what does that mean?" The nun asked.

"That she was married to him," Lilly answered, "but they weren't, like, all the way married yet. They'd made the promises, but Joseph was suppose to go home and, like, build her a house or something before they could live together."

"That's messed up," Kyle commented, "I mean you marry your girl, but you got to wait till you built a place to live for her before you get to love on her? And no action in the meantime… that's not right."

The nun smiled, "Actually it was a good thing. That he had to go home, build a place for his bride and stay pure the whole time proved to her that he was serious and ready to take up responsibility as the head of his own family. It also ensured she didn't have to move in with her mother-in-law." That raised 'ohs' from a few of the kids, then the nun looked at Lilly again.

"Yeah, well, when Joseph found out she was pregnant," Lilly continued, "he figured she'd been cheatin' on him. He could have had her killed, that was the punishment for cheatin', but I guess he still loved her 'cause he was just going to divorce her secret like."

"Come on, Lilly," one of the younger ones whispered nudging the girl in the back, "Tell it the right way!"

Lilly grinned, then with a sly glance at Kyle she drew herself up and orated pompously, "Matthew 1:20-25. _But while he thought about these things, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream, saying, 'Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary your wife, for the child she carries is of the Holy Spirit. And she will bring forth a Son, and you shall call His name JESUS, for He will save His people from their sins.' So all this was done that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the Lord through the prophet, saying: _'Behold, the virgin shall be with child, and bear a Son, and they shall call His name Immanuel,'_ which is translated, 'God with us.' Then Joseph, being aroused from sleep, did as the angel of the Lord commanded him and took to him his wife, but did not lay with her till she had brought forth her firstborn Son. And he called His name JESUS."_

"Very good," The woman laughed, "And where did this last part happen...?" Her index finger traveled over the children stopping on a pair of pale headed boys that were identical to one another, "Kimmeron and Kensey."

The two boys scrambled to unpack a box and together held a little wooden building over their heads, their movements so alike it was uncanny, "Bethlehem!" they shouted in unison, and with a glance of their own at Kyle they began reciting, "Luke 2:1-7. _In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.) And everyone was required to go to his own town to register. So Joseph went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn._"

The nun began to see a delightful conspiracy going on with Kyle at its head, and the sparkling eyes of all the children challenged her. "Peter," she said suddenly pointing at a boy with slanted eyes.

About three different children pounced on one of the boxes pulling out figures with hook shaped staffs and a collection of shaggy looking animals carved to look like someone had wrapped them in hull insulation as Peter responded, "Luke 2:8-14. _And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified_..."

"Leeatha," the nun switched choices mid-stream trying to throw them off.

"..._But the angel said to them,_" a girl with thick wiry hair and a broad face looked up from the box she was searching and continued without missing a beat, "_Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord..."_

"Carey," the woman choose again, and Leeatha pulled a figure from her box, a man in fancy robes with wings coming off his back, and quickly handed it to a bright eyed girl with braids on either side of her head.

"..._This will be a sign to you,_" the girl announced holding the figure up in the air as if it were talking to the men with the staves, "_You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger. Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying..."_

And before the nun could say anything the entire dozen stepped with Carey and proclaimed, "_Glory to God in the highest, peace on earth and goodwill toward men!_"

The nun clapped her hands in pleasure, as did a few of the other diners at the impromptu presentation. "That was marvelous," she cheered, "absolutely marvelous! How much have you learned?"

"We all memorized the first two chapters of Matthew and Luke, the two books in the Bible that talked about Jesus being born," Kyle answered proudly, "That was how Lilly knew the scripture about Joseph. That parts in Matthew." The nun nodded. "We wanted to give you something special for Christmas."

"Oh, what a delight you children are," The woman almost sounded like she would cry, "I must find some way to reward your diligence. Such a wonderful gift," she pulled Kyle into a hug, then reached out for each child in turn making sure none were missed as she spoke, "but it is not just me you have given a gift to. These Words from the Bible are now yours forever, hidden in your heart. The Christmas story can never be taken from you."

It was then that the little one called Ivory came up and opened her hands to the nun as if she were holding something fragile and very precious. There was something that looked like a crude little feed bin filled with dry grass in her hands, and on the grass was a little baby that looked to be wrapped in cloth, "The very _first_ Christmas gift," she said sadly, "was baby Jesus. Have people forgotten that? Don't they understand what Christmas means anymore?" Her voice was plaintive.

The nun fell to her knees to gather the child in her arms. "Oh, yes, Ivory, my sweet angel, they _have_ forgotten. They run around like madmen buying gifts for kith and kin forgetting that buying gifts for the ones they love is really a remembrance of God's gift to us, but as long as you remember... you and your brothers and sisters," she looked at the other children and that seemed odd for except for the twins there were no two similar, "there will be someone to remind them. You can be a beacon that leads people to Jesus... like the star guided the wise men to seek the Christ child," she motioned up at the light.

"How?" Ivory asked in wonder, "How can I do that?"

The nun chuckled, then pulled Ivory into a tight hug before holding her at arms length, "By being your sweet wonderful self, Ivory; by sharing the spirit Christ has placed in your heart wherever He guides you and," she grinned, "by doing things like finishing the Nativity so others can see it. Let's put Baby Jesus where He belongs," and with that the nun and the children became a flurry of activity as they finished unpacking the boxes.

_Knew there was a reason I hated Christmas, _Riddick growled to himself, and he even began to find a certain 'in your face' attraction for the commercial version.

Riddick made a point of ignoring the nun and her crew as he dedicated himself to finishing his meal and so was taken somewhat by surprise when a little hand suddenly placed one of the strange shaggy mammals on the table, then the little girl Ivory clambered up on the facing seat. He started to snarl at her to get lost, but as he looked up at her sweet face he found his anger dying.

She was beautiful, even angelic, and an impression of innocence radiated from her so strongly that she almost seemed to glow. Her hair fell down the sides of her face framing huge luscious eyes that brimmed with the simple belief that all was right in the universe while wide cherubic lips smiled at him beneath a cute button nose. The shading of his violet vision gave him the feel that she was a contrast of pale skin and dark everything else – hair, eyes, lips - but he couldn't be sure. He only knew that her structure was near perfect, and were she to retain that beauty as she grew, adorable was likely to transform into drop dead gorgeous. It almost made him ill to think about what would happen to her if the pirates had their way. _Ain't gonna happen,_ he promised himself.

"I saved one for you," she chimed as she settled herself on her knees across from him.

He stared at her, but she seemed not the least bit bothered by his goggled gaze so he shifted it to the creature she had brought him. The animal had four legs, all folded up underneath it as if it were, perhaps, asleep – and very warmly he imagined for the beast appeared to carry it's own insulation if the form of a thick dense coat. Most the others scattered around the stable look like they might be some pale color, but the one she had brought him seemed it should be dark. Its face, beneath a mop of the thick fur, was narrow with a rounded muzzle and sidewise eyes. An herbivore then, and something about it made Riddick think the animal it was modeled after was none too smart. "What is it?" he asked shortly.

At that the girl giggled, "Oo," she sat up straighter in her seat, "your voice is all rumbly and rough like tree bark. I bet it would be fun to hear you tell a story." Then she grew more serious, "It's a sheep."

"A sheep," he repeated. _Yeah, with a name like that it has to be dumb._

"Uh huh," Ivory nodded sagely, "People have kept sheep on Earth Prime for a way way long time. They use their hair to make clothes and eat their meat. It's called mutton. The people that watch the sheep are called shepherds. They were the first ones to see Baby Jesus," she said matter-of-factly.

Riddick found he was charmed in spite of himself, "How come you know so much about sheep?"

"Sister Bernice knows about lots of animals," Ivory answered solemnly, "She teaches us stuff about them. I can even milk a Jacobian Goat."

"Really?" Riddick smiled, "I've never even seen a Jacobian Goat."

"Oh, yes," her eyes grew wide, "They're fearsome! They are black and white with long shaggy hair and six horns!..." she held her hands as far apart as she could, "...This long!"

Her face was so animated he wanted to chuckle. "Interesting," he rumbled instead.

"But the Bible didn't say anything about goatherds visiting Baby Jesus," she continued on, "and all the shepherds got took already so I brought you a sheep."

"Sorry, kid," he shook his head, "I don't do nativities."

Ivory looked about to protest, and Riddick wondered if he truly wanted to resist her, but before she could begin the nun glided over. "Ivory," she interrupted gently, "Let the gentleman eat his breakfast," and Riddick's mood immediately turned sour as the little girl offered him a regretful smile, then took her sheep and climbed down. He knew the real reason the nun came over, he had expected it sooner or later, but he was surprised at himself. He had actually been enjoying the little girl's company.

After Ivory left the nun continued to stand near the table as she watched the kids - sentry duty? Most likely, but he didn't care. His desire to talk had departed with the girl so he applied himself to his meal with single minded dedication once again. He figured it was only a matter of time before the woman got up the nerve to tell him to stay away from her kids, so he was taken a little off stride when she finally said, quite pleasantly, "So what do you think, Mr. Smith?"

_Does everybody know my 'name?' _he thought with irritation,_ See how the lines of communication work on this ship. tele-com, tele-link and tell Holly. _"Try not to," he answered dismissively without looking up, but she didn't take the hint.

"I for one think it is entirely appropriate." The nun smiled looking contentedly over at the children playing with the pieces of the stable scene, making the sounds of animals they had probably never even seen, giving voice to people who hadn't lived in thousands of years. The nun seemed oddly at ease, especially considering what she was talking to. "It is no coincidence we are setting up the Nativity on a ship called the Bethlehem Ephrathah so close to the day we celebrate our Lord's birth. When I saw the name of the transport chosen for us, I knew God was blessing this journey. We are under His protection."

"Then there's a hell of a lot you don't know, sister," Riddick offered blandly. There was no title or respect in the last word, it was merely a designation in lieu of a name he neither knew nor was interested in learning.

"In fact I do," the nun turned to look at him full on, "Captain Maw has informed me. She said one of the other passengers brought word of the danger to my charges in time for her to begin preparations and I wanted to thank you."

"What makes you think it was me," Riddick stabbed something that looked and smelled like sausage, but it wasn't wise to reflect too heavily on the ingredients, especially on a ship with this tight a budget.

"Such whispers are not heard in brightly lit places," the nun commented knowingly, "and there are very few who have booked passage this trip that would survive the darker corners of Lupis 5." The woman spoke with the surety of one who knew, and Riddick glanced up at her with mild curiosity. She looked older than her voice, and Riddick knew one of the places that could happen to a person. If she had survived the back streets of Lupis 5 then it explained a lot and he supposed she had place to talk.

Strangely, as he met her gaze, he thought he saw a faint reflection of gold or something like it deep in her eyes. Glancing around he tried to see what kind of light or energy source might cause this new variation of color. He found nothing obvious, but his altered vision was still new enough he supposed he was bound to run into the occasional anomaly.

It hadn't been so bad when the doc at the Ursa Luna Orbital Prison first put the shine on his eyes. That version of maximum security hell wasn't the worst slam Riddick had been in, but it had its dark moments... quite literally. Of 'Slam-City's' multiple levels, the lowest had gone dark and prison officials were in no hurry to spend the funds or risk the lives to fix them. It kept costs down, and if it kept the convict population down too, well, they had no complaints about that either - a good 'healthy' attrition rate meant there was always room for more. The worst they liked you the deeper they sunk you, and with it sunk your chances of surviving. His descent to those levels had been somewhat more voluntary, if no less mandatory. After he broke loose from the guards who had transported him up from the planet, forced the sole survivor to collect the transfer fee and hand it over to _him_ they wanted him badly, but not badly enough to follow him down _there_. Life in the lower levels had been reduced to survival of the fittest. Riddick already played by those rules, but the long term denizens of Ursa Luna had an advantage he didn't, albeit an artificial one, and it only took one skirmish to make Riddick realize he needed that advantage as well if he was going to stay alive.

There was a doc buried down there, a _real_ doc, although he wasn't operating in any official capacity. The man claimed to have studied a race on some remote planet that divided their seasons by light and dark. They had a unique visual adaptation to deal with the dark times, and after years of research he had finally developed a process to add bio-synthetic micro-prisms to a man's eye to collect and focus ambient light back where it could boost night vision. He'd also designed a way to modify the optic nerve to see in a different light spectrum making it possible to see, to some degree, in total darkness -- ideally -- but that part of the procedure didn't always go so well.

Lot of people lost their sight, piece meal or whole hog. Some people died. It was still considered experimental when the medical authorities shut it down, but the doc was convinced he could perfect it if he just had a little more time and a few more guinea pigs -- the human kind -- to play with. He took his experiment underground, and when he was caught he was sentenced to Ursa Luna. That was like sentencing a fox to a henhouse. After examining Riddick's eyes, the doc had been surprised and said Riddick was a perfect candidate. In fact the doc virtually guaranteed success and set a price of 20 Menthol Cools. As it turned out, the nerve thing didn't take, but Riddick wasn't going to stick around long enough to complain about the workmanship when he discovered a way to get on board a ship and install himself as the pilot.

That had been when Johns first latched on to his tail, but it _wasn't_ the first time he'd crossed paths with the man. In fact, there had been a time when Riddick had trusted William Johns. He and Johns had both been part of the Grycov Mercenary Guild... had both trained on Sigma 3... had both gone to Strikeforce Academy. They had even taken some modules together; Johns had been Riddick's wingman in both Atmospheric and Interstellar Combat and Maneuvers. They'd made a good team.

After graduation Johns had shipped out for a new assignment -- a guild hunter going after soldiers AWOL from units contracted to the Wailing Wars -- but they'd parted friends...

Back when Riddick believed the whole 'band of brothers' crap they'd been taught.

Back before he learned what mercs were truly loyal to.

Shortly before Riddick took out the company at Sigma 3, Johns paid them visit. Riddick had been retained there and was an Elite Company Ranger serving in Security. He'd found out Sigma 3 company had gone crooked, was taking contracts under the table no merc company with any conscience should touch, and he'd been conspiring with the guild owner to bring them down. The day after Johns got there he started asking some interesting questions -- made a point of asking _Riddick_ some interesting questions -- but nobody had told Riddick anybody was coming and his short hairs were twitching so he kept clam about the twisted deals Sigma 3 Company was making. Johns stayed another day then abruptly stopped asking questions and left. By sheer coincidence Riddick had been in the hanger sorting out a short in his fighter's control panel when Sigma's Commander escorted his old wingman in. From behind the tinted windows of his cockpit Riddick watched the two shaking hands before Johns left. Both were smiling real friendly like, and Riddick smelled rat.

Somewhere along the way Johns had traded principles for cunning and four point something years later he was a free agent and it was Riddick he was hunting, past associations forgotten. Riddick led him a merry chase, but John's was good at what he did and had no qualms about taking liberties if it gave him the advantage. Riddick wondered just how far the man would go. To Johns' mind the ends justified the means. That and where Riddick was concerned, it was now a matter of survival. Johns knew better than most that the least slip up, the smallest mistake, and Riddick was gone... and very likely he'd be dead in the process because the man Riddick thought he knew, the man Riddick had thought was his friend, was a lie. Johns exuded the slick do-right lawman, but that was a lie too. When Riddick was around Johns now, all he smelled was rat.

Riddick still didn't know what prompted Johns' decision to take him to Butcher Bay, but he had no intention of staying _there_ any longer than he had to either. Riddick wreaked his kind of havoc through all three security levels of Butcher Bay, and it was while he was on the double max level he met Pope Joe. As much voo-doo as hoo-doo the man was what passed for the doctor round there and after Riddick's arm had been messed up in a 15 meter fall with nothing but a guard for a cushion, he needed one.

Riddick still wasn't a hundred percent sure what had happened. Pope Joe must have doped the wound with something that had screwed with Riddick's brain 'cause even now he remembered a woman's voice in his head like a half forgotten dream. She'd said she was going to give him a gift, that he'd been blind too long. Like that could be real. Riddick _knew_ Pope Joe had to have done something, maybe even finished what the first eye doc had begun, because Riddick _knew_ he wasn't going crazy, and it was after Pope Joe was done stitching up his arm that Riddick's world had shifted to shades of violet...

... and it changed _everything_. Riddick lost all color, but he'd gained the dark and it had proven its worth in those corners the nun was talking about.

"Yeah," he growled reluctantly, sliding his goggles up, he narrowed his eyes against the light to see if the lack of lenses changed the effect - it didn't, "It was me."

She caught her breath at the sight of his silvered eyes, but quickly mastered her astonishment to offer a heart felt, "Then thank you, Mr. Smith. God bless you."

"Keep it," Riddick retorted darkly, pulling the goggles back down, "I don't want nothin' from God."

This took her by surprise. He saw a shadow of worry flash across her face at the hard certainly of his tone, her scent of sunlight and soft incense suddenly tainted, then the visible concern was gone - hidden away - with only her scent left to betray her. "But He has done so much for you already... look at you... your body, your eyes..."

"I earned this body the hard way, lady," Riddick growled contemptuously, his muscles flexing in irritation causing them to ripple smoothly under his bronze skin, "and I _paid_ for these eyes. Cost me twenty Menthol Cools to a slam doc and had _nothin'_ to do with God. He ain't done shit for me since the day I was born."

That reaction seemed to astound her even more, and then her response astounded him. He saw it in her face. She _knew_ what he was, what he was capable of, and yet she still dared to speak back to him, "How can you say that?" She sounded like she was chastising one of her orphans instead of talking to a shiny eyed killer, "There is a reason that procedure was outlawed. Do you have any idea how many fail? Do you even realize how rare a perfect shine is? This slam doc's talents were God-given regardless of what you or he thought, and I suspect that the conditions under which this was done would make your results even more miraculous. God is in your life whether you realize it or not, and I for one appreciate what He has done for you, as well as what you have done for us."

Riddick stood in a dangerously sinuous movement. For a moment he looked like he wanted to do something, then glancing behind the nun he saw Ivory and several of the other kids watching. "Screw you," he snarled and then strode across the room, dropping his whole tray in the trash. Let the recycler sort it out. He didn't want to be appreciated by a nun or anyone else. He just wanted to get this job done and get the hell off this ship.

"God cares for you, Mr. Smith," he heard her voice follow him down the hall, and then, after he had passed beyond earshot, the nun sighed and shook her head, "and I will pray for you."

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-OoO-

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**NOTES**

A portion of this chapter was revised 9/11/07 to reflect some new weaving in my overall storyline which seeks to remain within canon as best I can while I have fun filling in blank spaces. To this end you may have noticed my version of Riddick's eye shine acquisition becomes a two step process - the shine itself at Ursa Luna and the violet dark sight at Butcher Bay. This is my attempt to reconcile the 2 SEPARATE origins for his eye shine found in official sources. If you haven't heard about the second origin, you probably haven't played the Escape from Butcher Bay game. I haven't either, but you can see a summary in "movie" form at the Tigon Studios web page (be warned, it should probably share the game's rating for language and animated gore). Look under games. All other info out there supports the Ursa Luna origin, but since Butcher Bay IS "official" history, I've tried to incorporate it. The game is also where I pulled the idea that Riddick and Johns used to know each other - perhaps were once even friends. In the beginning of the "movie" their pointed banter indicates a familiarity that seems beyond hunter and quarry, but you can watch it and draw your own conclusions.

If you want to learn more about that race the Ursa Luna doctor was studying, check out my story Saved By Grace (also still in progress) which happens, chronologically, 25 years before this one ;o).

**THANKS**

**Littlejewel667** – Thanks for your kind words! You don't know how much they are appreciated, and I consider it a high honor for one of my stories to go on someone's Favorite List. I hope Christmas will earn the right to stay there. **¤**hug back**¤**

**JacklynK** – Thanks for the review, and for the technical comments as well. I've acted on some and made a few revisions in both chapters 2 & 3, and will keep the others in mind as I continue. Maw? Yeah, I guess a rather blatant allusion **¤**LOL**¤**, but to my mind it suits her :-). Thanks for everything.


	5. Chapter 5: No Know

(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick, as stated in COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)

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**CHAPTER 5**

**No Know**

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Sister Clara returned to the children, and though she tried to put on a bright face, it was obvious her encounter with the strange mercenary bothered her. She smiled and laughed at the younger children's antics, but Kyle got the feeling it was all a show, and it was not long before she was announcing it was time to put the storage boxes away and that Sister Rachel and Ms Holly would have something for them to do afterwards. Amid the groans, as everyone moved to gather up the boxes and packing material, Kyle caught Lilly by the arm and pulled her over to pack with him. "You catch what I'm catchin'?" he asked the girl out of the side of his mouth.

"Something about us bein' in danger and Mr. Smith was the one brought the captain word of it?" Lilly offered, wondering if their ears heard the same thing.

"Yeah and there was more than thanking him in that talk. Seemed to me like Sister Clara was trying to get a feel for him – like they don't know his angle yet... if it be for good or ill."

Lilly nodded, "And that talk did none to settle her."

"No," Kyle agreed, "She still don't know. She's not scared for us yet, but she's worried fine."

"I'd be worried to," Lilly shuddered, "Did you see his eyes? The way he moved? Kyle, if he's against us..."

"I know," Kyle decided grimly, "he's back alley and more. A whole lot more. I'm bettin' that Sister Clara's going to make off to talk with the captain as soon as we're settled with lessons. Cover for me. I'll play shadow and see what I can learn." Lilly stared at Kyle. Both knew what he purposed was patently wrong, but after a moment she nodded. While they might live in the orphanage now, they hadn't survived as long as they had on the streets of Lupis 5 by letting danger sneak up on them unawares. Old lessons died hard, and among those ingrained was ignorance kills.

Some 27 minutes later, Sister Rachel began to look puzzled as the children worked on their lessons. Shortly after their trip on the Bethlehem Ephrathah began Sister Clara regretfully explained to the children that the move would force them to do school work through the holidays in order to stay on schedule and Ms. Holly saw the wisdom of including the ship's kids in the mix. The older kids on both sides recognized crowd control when they saw it, but considering the size of the ship they understood the half truth was necessary, particularly in the case of some of the more adventurous youngers. They hadn't even been onboard a full 12 hours before they'd had to do a ship wide search when a little group of orphans had been lured off by a group of ship kids for a spur-of-the-moment game of Hide & Seek. Tyler had been among them, an original member of the Baker's Dozen as the group of kids with street experience were called, so it was no surprise that it had taken them almost 4 hours to find him.

The black goggled merc had vanished soon after lift off but Lilly found herself wondering now just how long Tyler could have stayed hidden if Mr. Smith had been looking for him. Her instincts told her not long, and she shuddered again.

That little game, however, served to put everyone in a state of higher vigilance and that meant it was only been a matter of time before Sister Rachel realized someone was missing. The fact it wasn't one of the youngers bought them a little time, but it didn't take her long to narrow down the **who** of the equation once she came up short. Lilly, however, was ready with a half-truth of her own.

"Has anyone seen Kyle?" the nun asked.

Several of the children looked around. The Baker's Dozen was careful NOT to look at Lilly and she raised her hand saying, "I think he went on an errand with Sister Clara," with careful half honesty.

Sister Rachel's brows knit slightly in consternation; "Sister Clara didn't say anything about taking him with her."

Lilly shrugged, "I don't know. He was right behind her when she left." Sister Clara's affinity for the Baker's Dozen was well known, and it was not odd for one of them to accompany her places. She even sent them with other nuns on certain tasks, like going to the open markets. Sister Clara said the skills they had learned on the street were good ones to have if they kept them honed and used them right. Running 'errands' kept their head in the 'game' at the same time it helped keep the nuns safe and the merchants honest.

Lilly had been wondering how different the 'game' would be where they were going, but after seeing the mercenary she was beginning to think the basic rules might be universal. He looked like he lived the 'game' no matter where he was, and he didn't look like he'd play pawn for anybody – so why was he there? She hoped Kyle could find out.

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The corridors were not crowded, but there were enough people to cover his advance if he hung back a distance. He was under no illusions. Were Sister Clara not so preoccupied with her Mr. Smith encounter she would have probably noticed him right off, but then that ran true to another old adage: a distracted mark was an ignorant mark. It was rare that Sister Clara was this distracted, but it was to his advantage and he was thankful.

Sister Clara paused to ask one of the ship's personnel of the captain's whereabouts and she was pointed down a hall toward something that sounded like the 'red room.' Sister Clara nodded benignly and thanked them before continuing on her way, and she did so without glancing either up or down the hall. Yeah, she was bothered, and that bothered Kyle.

Halfway down Sister Clara stopped at a door and Kyle pulled up in a panic. He looked franticly for cover, then slid over to an info panel on the wall and hunched to alter his shape as he made a careful study of the buttons. Hiding in plain sight wouldn't fool Sister Clara for a second if she was paying any attention, but she wasn't. She brushed her hand over the display by the door and stood with bare checked impatience staring at it as it signaled her presence inside. On the other side of the door Kyle heard the faintest hint of tones, but he paid no attention as he considered what he should do. There were enough people passing through the halls from time to time that he couldn't help but be noticed if he remained in the corridor. He might be able to get away with standing outside "waiting" for Sister Clara, but he'd never be able to explain putting his ear to the door to listen. He needed a better vantage.

As the captain's door slid open and Sister Clara swept inside, Kyle turned to survey the doors along the corridor, but only a few interested him – most notably a small one on the opposite wall that said 'Ship's Personnel Only: Ventilation Access.' The mechanism on the access door required a simple key. It was designed more with the intent to keep the casually curious out, than to truly impede entrance. Considering what Kyle used to do for a "living," the lock was a trifling inconvenience.

Inside was a narrow space flanked by duct work on three sides. Each hollow metal duct had an access panel, and Kyle followed them up past the level of the ceiling and found one duct branched to span the hall. He removed the panel and stuck his head into the cavity. Below and above the duct disappeared into darkness, but sound carried through the long hollow chamber and as Kyle closed his eyes to listen he picked up distorted distant tones with a familiar lilt. He thanked the Lord as he squeezed through the access and wedged himself inside. He was unsure if this endeavor was one the Lord could bless or not, but he was grateful for any little favor. Bracing himself against the sides of the duct he began chimneying his way up and soon reached the branch. From there it was simply a matter of following Sister Clara's voice – idle greetings and the standard how-are-you-faring conversations by the sound of it, but considering Sister Clara's mood that wouldn't last long. Thankfully, he hadn't far to go. Within minutes he found himself peering through a grate into a medium sized room, although why it would be called the 'red room' was beyond him with the wood and soft golds that made up the base décor.

One wall of the room was dominated by a beautiful holographic display of the Conga solar system twined with a yellow ribbon bearing a single green jewel. By the clock and readings displayed with the jewel Kyle suddenly realized it was a real time representation showing their progress through the system and the green jewel represented the ship upon it's route as it dipped and curved taking advantage of gravity pulls to sling it along or veering to avoid wells or other hazards. The only hazard that it didn't avoid was a great hazy belt of what looked like fog, and for some reason this section of the route was highlighted red. The danger?

The other main focus of the room was a table opposite the display with several chairs around it's edge. The captain sat in one of them, looking up from a display illuminated in the table face and several note/pads arranged around it. "... so you managed to meet **him**?" the captain was saying. Neither woman looked up from their conversation as Kyle settled in to listen, and he silently offered the Lord another prayer of thanks.

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Sister Clara clasp her hands in each other tightly as she tried to force peace on the urge to pace, "Yes," she answered, "He is... unsettling."

At this the captain choked back a laugh; genuine humor sharply flavored with cynicism. "Sister," she said, "you have a gift for understatement," then she sobered, "I've known my share of armed forces - mercs included - and my gut is telling me Mr. Smith is the most dangerous hunk of testosterone to ever set foot on any ship I've manned, and that's saying something," she gestured off handedly at the military records on the wall, "Nor is this the first ship I've captained." Sister Clara glanced at the records then away but the captain took no offense at her disinterest. "I'm grateful to know what may be waiting for us out there, and I'm absolutely certain we need Mr. Smith more than he needs us," the captain added, "so the more I think on it the less comfortable I am. Mercenaries are a godless self serving breed and I keep finding myself asking what's in this for him?"

But Sister Clara shook her head, "It is even worse than that, Captain Maw. This man is not godless, not in the way you mean. He knows of God. He is consciously defiant."

"So what are we saying? No scruples? Intentionally immoral? What? Don't talk to like a nun here, Sister, talk to me straight." Captain Maw generally trusted her first impressions about people, but there were a lot of unanswered questions hanging around this merc and she had no illusions as to the accuracy of her 'gift.' She had misjudged a man in the past... more than one actually, and she had paid a price for that. She didn't want to make that error again - there was more at stake here than just her career.

"Either... both... neither," Sister Clara offered understanding the captain's need for frankness, "I don't know. Unlike animals, humans are born with a foundational understanding of right and wrong, an inborn awareness that they will be held accountable for their actions in this universe. Many spend their entire lives unconsciously seeking the true source of that understanding or else rebelling against it, and this innate knowledge has lead to a plethora of religions and philosophies all seeking to provide answers and offer methods they hope will absolve the guilt of the wrongs done. I think Mr. Smith has no such insecurities. He is aware of God, but there is a deep hostility there. I seriously doubt guilt or accountability factor into any of his decisions."

"On the other hand…" the nun added almost reluctantly, "one of my charges, a slight little waif from the streets named Ivory, approached Mr. Smith when I was not watching," she shook her head, "I sometimes wonder if she is not an angel thinly disguised for there is a love in her that reaches out to the most unlikely people. She tried to include him in arranging the Nativity."

"The Nativity?" Maw interrupted, "You mean that Christmas display you asked about? The one with baby Jesus?" Sister Clara nodded. "Jesus... you said He was God's son... Did Mr. Smith know that?" the captain asked incredulously. Sister Clara nodded again knowing it would have been impossible for the mercenary to avoid overhearing the children's' impromptu presentation of the Christmas story. "How'd he take that?"

"Surprisingly well," Sister Clara answered, "Of course, we are talking about Ivory, but I think he might have actually been enjoying her attention. He seemed almost friendly, but that ceased the moment I intervened. The odd thing is I found myself intervening not so much because I felt she was in any danger, so much as I was afraid she might form some sort of attachment to him." There was a faint tone of uncertainty to the nun's confession, as if she could not fathom why her concerns should fall in that order, "My... 'gut'... warns me that would not be a good thing."

"So what does this mean?" Captain Maw asked.

"He is godless," Sister Clara offered hesitantly, "but he is, perhaps, not soulless?"

"Does that mean we can we trust him?" the captain asked. "That's what we have to know," she shook her head, "**My** gut says yes, but I'm not ready to gamble all our lives on **my** gut."

Sister Clara shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry. I have little more to offer. I will pray, but I know his kind better than most in my vocation," she said with some irony, "and I fear my concern is clamoring louder than my ability to listen at the moment."

"Dammit," the captain growled, "and I've bunked him in engineering. If he's working for the pirates, I've given him our throats. I couldn't have put him in a better spot to wreak havoc."

"Can you move him somewhere else?" the nun asked ignoring the captain's curse. Whether or not it was appropriate, she understood the captain's frustration.

"No," the Maw said shortly, "for the first time in three years I've got every cabin and," she looked at the nun wryly, "every hold filled with paying customers. When I took his passage he said all he wanted was a blanket and space in the main hold…"

The nun raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Tempting thought," the captain admitted grudgingly, "but not possible. Main hold's under you, and it's not insulated."

The nun's lips parted slightly in surprise at the captain's veiled admission that killing the mercenary was a thought that Maw had, however superficially, entertained then she shut her mouth quickly. At the moment it was only an indication of how seriously the captain took the safety of her passengers and crew. Unless it became something more than that, Sister Clara decided not to comment.

"So I've a question for you." Maw continued grimly, "You indicated you've had experience with his kind. You tell me what you think... What if he's legit? What if he really is here because he overheard some talk and he doesn't want to see it go through? What'll happen if I start playing musical cabins?"

Sister Clara took a deep breath, then released it and shook her head. "I don't know," she said feeling at that moment very unlike the serene and peaceful nun who had come to pray over the ship just a few days ago, so confident of God's plan for their future. Mr. Smith had indeed unsettled them both if for different reasons, "He'll know you don't trust him. He knows you have your suspicions now, you told him as much, but if you act on them..." she shrugged, "I wish I had more answers for you. He might not care. It might be all he needs to change his mind. Like you said, mercenaries are self serving and we don't know what his incentive is. Perhaps it **is** the children," she said almost hopefully, "Perhaps he **is** human enough to care regardless, but maybe he isn't. You were right about one thing. He is dangerous." Sister Clara finally sighed, disappointed she had so little to offer. She knew she would be praying very hard over the next few days, but she also knew God would have to speak very loudly to get past her prejudices. _Forgive me, Lord, I had not realized I clung to these so deeply,_ she thought silently, _help me overcome them and see this man with Your eyes_, but to the captain she could only say, "I'm truly sorry I can't offer more, but I can tell you this much, if he's here working for the pirates it won't matter where you put him. He'll get his job done. If he's not… yes, we will need him."

"Yeah," Captain Maw released an exasperated breath, "Like he said. We're stuck with him."

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The conversation shifted to matters of other importance holding less interest to Kyle so he backed his way out intent on beating Sister Clara back to the hold. Sister Rachel looked up as he sauntered back in, not even trying to sneak. "Where is Sister Clara?" she asked. Kyle's eye caught Lilly's in a fleeting glance and read what he needed there. He was expected to know so she'd probably said he went with the nun on her errand. True enough to a point.

"Talking to the captain," he answered, "I expect she'll be coming shortly. I wasn't needed so, lucky me, back in time for sums." He grimaced and made his way over to Lilly, who made a deliberate show of activating his lesson pad. Though younger than he, her gift for mathematics' put her in his cycle so they worked as partners.

As he sat down she quietly began explaining their lesson. Sister Rachel listened in for a bit, then drifted off as Tyler raised his hand across the room. Lilly casually watched the nun out of the corner of her eye as she spoke, and as soon as she judged the distance safe, the topic of her words shifted without a break in her bored monotone conversation, "So, you get anything?"

"Not enough. It has something to do with pirates and, maybe, some big cloud of ice or dust we're routed through. As far as Mr. Smith goes, they're both stumped," Kyle answered in the same bored quiet tone, "They agree he's dangerous..."

"Duh," Lilly muttered under her breath.

"...but they have no idea why he brought word of anything. He didn't use his data to get himself on board, and he didn't put a price tag on it either. Seems he was looking for cheap passage and the captain had him snugged away in a spare bunk in engineering before he even told her."

"For free? No strings?" Lilly said with some puzzlement.

"Now you know what's got them. Her gut says trust him, but she doesn't trust it. Sister Clara doesn't know what to think of him either."

"So what are they going to do?' Lilly asked softly.

"What can they do?" Kyle looked at her with a familiar 'is it up to me again' dread in his eyes, "Keep a scant eye on him and hope for the best? Since they don't even know why he's here they don't know if showing distrust is some big no-no or not. Is he ours? Would he care? Would he take offense and skip sides? They feel like the situation's razor and don't know if there's even one safe edge to handle, but whatever the pirates have planned, they both seem to think we're hurting if he's theirs, and we'll need him if he's not."

"This is grim," Lilly whispered sincerely.

"Yeah," Kyle answered staring blankly his lesson pad, "I know," _and we can't wait for his colors to show. We gotta figure it before we hit the cloud. There's got to be a way to pull them out before we get there._

The adults' hands were tied, but he wasn't an adult.

There were things he could do they couldn't.

Things that could get him killed.

But they needed to know.

"I know."

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**WRITER'S THANKS, NOTES & NEWS:**

**THANKS:**

**Shaden** – I don't think you have and I greatly appreciate your comments (feel free to continue making them ;o). My faith **is** important to me so it shows up in most my writing one way or another, but including it with Riddick is a special challenge, especially while trying to keep him true to form. Your feedback is very encouraging and I hope I can continue to do justice to both my faith and his character. Let me know if I slip up in either area :o). I would also love it if you kept me and my stories in your prayers. It sometimes feels like it will take an act of God to get them all done, and I truly would like to see the story arc I have started completed.

**Saismaat** – Thanks so much. I really appreciate your input, especially regarding nuns. My experience with them, I am sure, is even more limited than yours, so I will try to keep your comment in mind as I write. I picture Sister Clara as being a little atypical, but she **is** still a nun. Please don't hesitate to mention anything else I have slipped up on (or that you've liked ;o).

**KrisEleven** – Wow, if you're not careful my heads going to get too big for my hat :-). No, really, THANKS! I love the feedback, good and bad, because it is important to me to keep Riddick in character so I like (OK, love) to hear when I succeed, AND want to know when I haven't. As far as his speech goes I noticed - after watching things a couple times - that there were (among other things) some western idiosyncrasies to the way they spoke, so in that regard living in Wyoming actually gives me a bit of a leg up as it were **¤**LOL**¤**. Thanks again. Hope you enjoy the others as much as you're enjoying this one so far :-)

**NOTES:**

I haven't given up – honest. It's just been real busy of late. Thanks for your patience.

**»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»**

**My promise to faithful readers: **As much as I hate it when other writers get 'distracted' by other stories and don't update the one **I'm** reading as fast as I'd enjoy, I have discovered that there are times other stories insist on being written. The result? I have four stories currently 'in progress' for your perusal – as they are all of a 'back story' nature in Riddick's timeline they would occur thusly: Saved by Grace, Be Still: Chances, Turn About, and this one, Nigh Unto Christmas.  
The good news is that each story has been generally plotted and outlined, and only ("only" **¤**LOL**¤**) needs to be fleshed out. The bad? That takes time, especially when divided between 4 stories, and those who have read my profile know I am a mom of 3 so writing time comes at a premium. What it means for my readers is that updates to this story may be intermittent. I do, however, **promise** it won't be abandoned barring death or other equally drastic life change. Please be patient (and, of course, be aware that **feedback** is an incredibly powerful motivator ;o).  
May God bless you all the time in-between.


	6. Chapter 6: Dangerous Games

(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick, as stated in COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)

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**Chapter 6**

**Dangerous Games**

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Lilly played taskmaster and kept him focused on the lesson, which was a good thing. Kyle's brain was going at escape velocity, but he couldn't afford to let his lessons slack. He _needed_ his free time, and at lunch he made a point of sitting with Sister Clara for a bit to discuss how he might use it... hypothetically. _Very_ hypothetically.

"So you want your evenings free after dinner so you can go exploring the ship and talking to the crew?"

"You've been saying I should give some thought to my future, and this might be an interesting job," Kyle said seriously, "I figured this would be a good time to ask some questions... get a feel."

Sister Clara gave Kyle a 'why do I think you're up to something' look. "You haven't shown much interest in narrowing down a vocation before this. Why now?"

Kyle shrugged. "I don't know," he tried to sound casual and careless, as if this _wasn't_ probably the most important and dangerous thing he'd ever planned in his life, "I guess ground bound everything is just so available. If not today, then next week, or next month, or next year even. No rush. But a space ship... I've not been off planet before that I can remember. This is all new. I never really thought about being a Spacer 'til now. It might be slick, and it seemed a good time to be asking questions."

"Technically," Sister Clara seemed to accept his answer, "these folk are not Spacers," she corrected, "Most call them Hoppers because they don't leave their own solar system; they only stay in space weeks at a time as they hop back and forth between _planets_ orbiting a single solar center. It is all real time, live travel," she explained, "True Spacers do their runs through the deep space between _systems_. They can spend months or sometimes even years in space. They and their passengers rely on cryosleep to save their supplies, their health, and their sanity – there are serious repercussions to deep space travel without the support of a cryosystem, but," she added ominously, "that in itself takes a toll. Real time and perceived time become impossible to synchronize; familiar faces are lost through time. Spacers, more than any other, understand the kind of curse immortality outside of God's grace would carry. It takes a unique personality to make Spacing career."

Kyle shuddered. It was not the thought of the hardships that Spacer's endured that bothered him so much as dread that it sounded like Sister Clara was going permit him the freedom he needed to go on this mad man hunt, but she didn't seem to think his reaction odd for the topic.

"Short hop transports like this," she continued, "give you the opportunity to set foot on ground several times a year; let you stay in sync with family, but you want to find the right captain."

"Like Captain Maw?" he asked just to get his mind back on the topic.

Sister Clara nodded, "I think she would be a good one, but always do your research. If you're not careful you could find yourself pulling slave labor on some ship, more in debt to the company store than you can pay on the wages you receive and it can be difficult to break free. Once off planet captains are nearly a law unto themselves because no single planet has jurisdiction over them, and system authorities are notoriously blind to the plight of individuals so long as it doesn't affect commerce. Of course, this applies to Spacing as well... even more so. At least with Hopping you may have the hope of contemporary friends and family ground side to help you out. Spacing... you lose those over time. Either way it is better to be wary before you go in."

There was a tone he had heard in her voice before that caught his attention – a tone of been there, done that. "How is it you know so much about this?" he asked. All the children knew pieces of Sister Clara's story; the Baker's Dozen even knew a few more; they all knew she wasn't born on Lupis 5; they all knew she had a rough childhood and spent a number of years on the street; they all knew she had seen other places, other solar systems, but somehow they had never gotten the whole story – just pieces.

Sister Clara smiled, one of her beatific smiles that told him the story would all lead back to God and His saving grace in her life, but she didn't elaborate. "Let's just say," she reached over to pat his hand, "I'm older than I look, but no matter where or _when_ we are, _God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble(__1_" Her smile shifted slightly, back to something more 'present,' and she nodded. "Very well, you have permission to roam after dinner so long as Captain Maw receives no complaints about you and your other school work does not suffer. You will also write up a report about what you learn for later reference by yourself and others. You _do_ have a unique opportunity here. The knowledge you gather should be made available for anyone else who is interested."

_Oh, it'll be available,_ Kyle thought trying to put an appropriately believable expression on his face, s_ooner or later _everyone_ is going to know. It would just be a lot better for us if it's sooner. _Aloud he said, "Thanks, Sister Clara," but in his heart he sent up a desperate plea, _Jesus, help me do this, and... if you will... keep me from getting myself killed in the process._

Kyle excused himself to get his lunch then joined Lilly with the other students, and Sister Clara watched him. Kyle was a deceptive young man -- not so much in his intents and character -- but in his nature. His scores in school, his careless attitude, his casual airs all belied the smart, honed, intense young man he truly was, and she knew better than most where that deception came from. On the streets you were either a _somebody_, and you had better have the wherewithal or connections to back that up, or you were a _nobody_, and the smaller, less significant nobody you were, the longer you lived. Kyle had excelled at appearing a nobody, but he had been a very special nobody - one with a heart for others.

She knew his story. She knew all their stories, or at least most of them -- what they'd told her and what she'd learned; she still had a few contacts -- and little would be found on paper. Orphaned when he was five standard years old, Kyle had been sent to live with his estranged uncle. Without children of his own, it appeared Kyle would be the sole inheritor of the family name, but that did not mean he was a welcome addition to the family. His uncle treated him more like slave labor than kin, but it was a roof over his head and he ate well enough... at least until he turned seven.

A little over two years after he arrived, his uncle's wife turned up pregnant and Kyle found himself turned out on the street. His bid as pretender to the lineage, as his uncle called it, was over. He wasn't needed anymore, but his space was. The street, however, wasn't an entirely unfamiliar place by then. Kyle had made a few friends in the shadows so when he found himself turned out, he turned to them. These friends were the protégés of an old thief who was running below guild scanners and had taken in a few young boys to train and make his old age a bit more comfortable. None were related, but they became family, and Kyle had a knack for the family trade.

Three years later Kyle found a four year old boy named Tyler digging through the trash for food and brought him into their little fold. A few years after that, a couple of the older boys got cocky and choose a target with a higher profile than was healthy... they stepped on a few toes... drew the guild's attention. A short time later, while Tyler and Kyle were on a job, the guild made their displeasure known, with extreme prejudice.

Suddenly Kyle and Tyler were on their own again, but Kyle had learned a great deal since he had last been turned out. They managed to survive, then they 'adopted' the twins Kimmeron and Kensey -- 5 years old at the time –- when Kyle learned their mother, a foreign squatter, had been killed leaving them alone in a shack in the dump. Kyle taught them a few tricks of the trade, and together they managed to keep on surviving. Their little group was rounded out by the addition of two girls, Lilly and Ivory a few months later. Kyle and Lilly did not presume to be worthy of the titles mother and father, but those were the roles they played to the younger children, and they did not hesitate to call their little hodge podge a family.

When Sister Clara finally made contact with him, Kyle had been on the street for almost eight years and was well on his way to becoming a more than proficient thief if he didn't get himself killed first; it was difficult to be a nobody _and _proficient at the same time.

Back then Sister Clara had done the open market shopping for the orphanage for she was reluctant to send a less street wise soul to do it. She noticed one or more of the children there regularly and slowly deciphered their affiliation to one another. Their situation was unusual because most children working the market in those capacities had a patron... or, more accurately defined, a master. Without such a patron it was only a matter of time before one of them caught the wrong someone's attention, and so far as Sister Clara was concerned, it was only by God's Grace they had not done so before then.

Sister Clara hadn't been sure what she had to offer that would interest the older children, used to their independence and well instated into teenage invulnerability, but her heart had yearned to help the younger ones while there was still hope for them. She prayed for them daily, and she spoke to Ivory the rare times the little girl begged, her angelic face lifting coins from purses as effectively as any pick pocket. The others, however, avoided the nun until she finally arranged an introduction they couldn't resist – a fellow nun with a "careless" purse of coins that included a note with Sister Clara's personal vid-phone designation, directions to the orphanage and an invitation to call her if they needed _anything_.

After that the children made themselves scarce, fearing her attention would result in the authorities, but late one rainy night two months later she found them all soaking wet on her doorstep, Kyle carrying a precious superheated burden wrapped in a thin blanket. Ivory was deathly ill. There was no way Sister Clara was going to turn the child away, and Kyle made it clear that where Ivory went, they ALL went. They were not going to risk being separated, which suited Clara just fine.

Over the three weeks it took Ivory to recover, Sister Clara had ample opportunity to get to know each of them, and to talk to Kyle and Lilly in specific. The two teens took their responsibilities as guardians for the other four very seriously. It was not difficult to convince them that life in the orphanage would be much safer and more beneficial to the youngsters than continued life on the streets, and so she won them all. Where one went, they all went so they all stayed.

That was the beginning of Sister Clara's little collection of street urchins. After Kyle and Lilly decided they had made a good move, they kept their eyes out for others, and over the last two years, Sister Clara had acquired six more. It was then an old friend of Clara's had come to call -- a man who had known her on both sides of her vows -- "Why Miss Baker," he had exclaimed, intentionally using her pre-vow surname, "you've collected a dozen of them," and so, much to Clara's chagrin, they became Baker's Dozen - a name she suspected would remain, regardless of the number, and Kyle remained the de-facto leader of Baker's Dozen, her sub-commander, as it were.

He truly was bright, smart, quick, and all the other adjectives used to describe a promising young person, but he had lived on the street as a nobody for too long. The rules of the game were ingrained and long practiced. It wasn't that he couldn't do the work; he assimilated the knowledge readily enough, and what he did do he made himself do well. It was just that subconscious desire to not stand out and draw attention... that, and two feet planted firmly in practical reality. Despite knowing the eventual benefits of the educational exercises, Kyle had a hard time getting into it. School work just wasn't _real _to him.

But this _was_... it was a real starship, real crew, real information about a real here-to-wise unconsidered occupation. It was _exactly_ what Kyle suggested it was... a unique opportunity to investigate an interesting career choice, so why -- as she watched the young man settle in amongst his peers to eat -- did she have the unsettling feeling that being part of a Hopper crew wasn't the_ real_ research Kyle had in mind.

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Kyle's lunch sat like a stone in his stomach. If he'd had a choice he wouldn't have eaten at all, but he had to act like this was just any other day. The afternoon passed like a blur, and if it weren't for Lilly he would've had a much harder time of it. He hadn't felt this many starflies in his stomach since he planned the raid on the butcher shop before Ivory got sick and they moved into the orphanage. Not what anyone would have necessarily called that a big time job, but this butcher carried a special Angus beef imported all the way from someplace called Colorado on Earth Prime. At the time Kyle hadn't really known or cared where that was. He only knew that made it _expensive_, and security was a step or two above the norm. If Kyle had taken everything this job would have made the local news, but since he only took a steak and a roast the butcher was never quite sure if he'd been robbed or if someone had gotten careless with the inventory. Kyle's little family had eaten rich that night, and he'd sold the roast for enough to keep them fed on lesser stuff for weeks.

But this was something different. If he got caught taking the meat it would have meant getting thrown into the juvenile correction system at best, getting slaved out at worst, but either way he'd be alive and as long as you were alive there were always possibilities. If he got caught doing_ this_ job, he could very well end up dead. _Is this how you felt, Jesus,_ Kyle found himself asking. _Did you have starflies that night in the garden? Probably worse than I got. You __**knew**__ what was going to happen; you knew you were going to die. _He remembered reading how Christ had sweat great drops of blood when he was praying, begging God to find another way. Kyle had thought sweating blood sounded a little far fetched 'til one of the Sisters showed him that perspiring blood had actually been documented in numerous cases, including convicts facing their execution(2)_. I know you didn't want to die, but there was no other way so you stayed and went through with it. I don't know if I could've done that, Jesus, but I've got to admit this is close enough to make me think twice about what you did. Can you give me some of your courage, cause just between You and me, this Mr. Smith scares the hell outta me._

That evening at dinner Kyle ate with the others, but took his time. It was as much a part of the plan as it was nerves. Most the kids who knew about his special dispensation to explore were jealous, albeit good naturedly, but Lilly knew different and was praying hard. After the others filed out Kyle got his lesson pad out and pulled up an extra credit math assignment, not that he expected to get a single problem right. He just needed something that would keep him busy or at least make him look like he was while he waited. When Mr. Smith finally came in toward the tail end of the mess period Kyle was keenly aware of it, but tried very hard to act as oblivious as he thought many of the other passengers probably were.

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Riddick stalked toward the galley unsure if the captain's generosity was a good thing or not. He planned on picking the slowest times to eat, but with the galley active only during certain hours, it was impossible to catch it completely empty. Nor were any of the ships corridors ever completely deserted. It didn't matter what he did, the people who saw him insisted on trying to act friendly even if they were scared witless of him, and "Good morning, Mr. Smith," "Good afternoon, Mr. Smith," "Evening, Mr. Smith," "Happy Holiday, Mr. Smith," every time he turned around outside the engineering hall was going to get old fast.

It was like the name was some kind of talisman warding off his evil, or maybe it was suppose to ingrate him somehow so when the shit hit the air intake he'd feel like helping them. There were those who were aware, especially among the crew, and he was already getting those questioning stares when they thought he wasn't looking. Trouble for them, he was _always _looking. No one dared ask him what _his_ plans were if the pirates attacked. What was the use when they wouldn't know if they should believe him anyway? Instead they just watched him, and smiled at him, and _greeted_ him, and he very quickly wanted to shove their "Happy Holidays" back down their throats.

So far no one since the nun had tried to get any closer than a greeting to the ominous Mr. Smith. He he'd only seen her once since their first conversation and she hadn't offered more than a nod in his direction, but that didn't help his mood either. On a ship this size it would be impossible to avoid seeing her altogether, and every time he saw her, every time he caught her staring at him with that patient worried expression, he'd hear her words echoing down the hall after him, "God cares for you, Mr. Smith," and she wasn't alone.

There was another voice ripped unwilling from his memories. It was a gentle masculine voice -- "God cares for you, Richard, I know that for a fact," -- from a time when he might have had a future, from a man he might have called friend... if the man hadn't been killed... if the nav circuits on Riddick's life hadn't been blown to hell by that damn cosmic Power-That-Be.

_Screw you_, Riddick thought very deliberately every time he _heard_ the voices in his memory and he _wasn't_ speaking to Sister Clara.

When Riddick entered the galley there were only a handful of people in attendance which suited him fine. They all looked up and offered their hesitant greetings... all except one. Riddick shrugged them off, letting his attention center on the only one that hadn't. Kyle... the oldest street rat. The one person in the room that _should_ have been hyper aware of _anyone's_ entrance, and instead the boy was giving every appearance of being diligently engrossed in something on a note/book.

Didn't stack right. The kid was living in an orphanage with a nun now, but he still acted street-rat. Those habits didn't die easy. Riddick approached the counter, not even acknowledging the couple who quickly stepped out of the way so he could go first. He loaded his tray, let the girl scan his card, then began walking toward the seat he'd chosen for the evening - this time near the manual override for the lights. His path took him by Kyle and his steps slowed, then paused. Nervousness edged in flat out fear was rolling off the boy stinking the air around him, and it spiked as he heard Riddick steps stop behind him. _So you __**are**__ aware of me_, Riddick smirked, _whatchya up to, kid? Playin' tough fer another rat or trying to melt inta the floorboards?_

Riddick looked over the subject on the note/book -- math lesson -- then glanced over a couple problems at random and figured them in his head. _Yer attention's on the wrong things, boy; the question is what? And why? _"Ain't workin', Kyle," he growled watching the boy jump out of his skin at "Mr. Smith" speaking his name behind him and Riddick grinned evilly as the boy twisted in his seat and gaped. "Answer to three ain't twelve hundred," Riddick added, maliciously muddying the meaning of his first statement, then continued to his seat. The fact that it was occupied was moot tonight.

After settling in the recently vacated space, Riddick covertly scanned the room again fixing every detail of the place in his mind from his new perspective, not just people, but doors, pipes, vents... Wouldn't matter if a flare went off. There wasn't a route out of this room he couldn't find blind from where he was sitting, and he had little pity for anyone who tried to get in his way, presuming they could find him when he took the lights out.

If it came to that, he knew a little more about their ship than they might wish -- one definite advantage to bunking in engineering; access to schematics -- and if push came to shove there were a few more places like the one that Tyler kid had found where ship's sensors wouldn't pick you up.

A smile quirked at Riddick's lips; leave it to a street rat to add a little chaos to everybody else's comfortably structured lives. He'd overheard no end of griping in engineering about some Hide 'n Seek fiasco. Not long after lift off a bunch a kids snuck off to play and, accidentally or on purpose, one of the street rats found a sweet spot in the system and stayed put. Took them some four hours to find the boy. Maw'd been furious and engineering bore the brunt of it. She'd given orders for them to identify every blind hole on the ship. On systems this old that could mean on-site checks in some awkward places with hand helds... a good number places. They were expecting the task to be difficult and take much more time than she'd given them.

Riddick knew he could help -- there were shortcuts; blind spots were something that could be found, or even created, if you knew what you were doing and he'd had ample opportunity to learn the art -- but it wasn't in his best interests to do so. He had a good idea _he_ was at least part of Maw's motivation to find them.

But that was neither here nor there at the moment. He let his attention wander back to Kyle. Although the boy was offering few outwards signs of it, Riddick's altered eyes could see he was rattled bad. The question was why? Attention from a merc was enough to do it for most folk, but street rats were a different breed.

Very shortly Kyle finished his meal, stuffed his notebook into a bag and slung it over his shoulder. He made his way out of the mess, braving the barest glance at Riddick as he did. Fear was still a key note in the boy's scent, and Riddick was beginning to have his suspicions.

Riddick didn't rush his meal but there were none who dared approach any closer so he was done in a timely fashion. He dumped his dishes, and left the galley wondering if he choked the life out of just one well wisher if it would be warning enough to the rest, but as he stepped into the hall it wasn't the few people offering empty greetings as they hurried past that caught his attention. It was what he was _not_ supposed to see.

The 'Beth kept planet-like cycles for the convenience of its passengers. Ground bounders were used to rotation -- distinct days and nights on the Conga system planets -- so Maw kept a 'day-time' when the ship was lit, and a 'night-time' when nonessential systems, lights and personnel went to as-needed status. That dimmed the lights in all but the most actively used corridors to create the illusion of "night" in a section of space where no such concept existed, and it cut back on power needs as well so for Maw's purpose it was win/win - comfortable customers/save energy.

That left many secondary corridors off the main dark, and it was in one of these darkened corridors, in the shadow of a door alcove, Riddick saw Kyle. _Thought as much. _The boy would have been invisible to anyone with normal vision, but "Mr. Smith" no longer fell into that category. He saw the boy crouched still, and knew the kid been there for several minutes, unmoving, or his motion would have kicked the lights back on. Riddick ignored the boy and sure enough, as soon as some distance and a few bodies were between them Kyle slipped from the hall and fell in step behind him. Riddick's senses kicked in focusing to such a degree that he could almost see the boy even without using his eyes. Knowing _who_ it was that followed him didn't do anything to tone his defenses down. He, of all people, knew just what a kid Kyle's age was capable of.

_So what's yer angle, kid? You got to know this is dangerous._

Riddick thought about playing games, but decided against them and permitted himself the luxury of going straight back to engineering -- it's not like it was a secret where he was staying -- and Kyle dogged his steps the whole way. The boy was a decent shadow. Had Riddick not already been aware of the boy's presence, nothing obvious would have drawn his attention to the fact he had acquired a tail even with the hall minimally populated. In fact, the one time Riddick used a corner to glance behind him, the boy had anticipated the possibility and was no where to be seen. _Yer slick, kid, but why you doing this? _

Riddick kept on until a panel labeled "Ship Personnel Only" indicated the entrance to engineering. He turned and the motion sensitive door slid from the archway permitting him access. If the boy followed him through this door he would gain some cover but lose all his excuses. Riddick made an opportunity to glance down the hall as brushed off his pants before he passed through the portal and barely caught Kyle slipping out of his field of vision. _Damn slick. You coming in here after me?_ Riddick challenged silently, _Come on, kid, I dare ya. _

Riddick let the door slide closed behind him, and quickly overrode the lights manually before they could dim up from dull dark. Engineering was one of those sections whose crew took a hiatus at night, but it was never full dark and their quarters were just down the hall. In an emergency it could be manned in minute's time. Riddick held position a few paces from the door waiting, arms crossed in the gloom, but the door didn't open. He gave the boy a few beats to figure out what he was doing, then stepped up to the archway again. He'd either catch the boy waffling or somewhere nearby.

The door slid open on an empty hallway and Riddick emerged halfway to locate the boy. He spotted Kyle's back continuing down the hall. _Chicken out? _Riddick thought, but as he inhaled the air in the corridor he got a different answer. Fear had been coming off the boy in sheets as he walked by, but there was no tinge of the sourness that the self condemnation of cowardice added to the mix. _So ya had a good idea I'd tagged you; kept going' to prove me wrong. Yer perceptive, so now I just got to figure out what yer up to. Did yer nun send you out to do some reconnaissance on the enemy or this some little exploit of yer own playin' with a fire hotter than you know, _Riddick pondered silently as he watched the boy walk away.

Riddick's first inclination was to absolve the nun -- she seemed to care -- but his second put her back on the list. He had no illusions regarding _his_ position. He knew the nun and Maw'd been talking, and no one needed to tell him they had their doubts. Maw'd as much as said it and the nun's little visit hadn't been entirely social. So long as they thought he was a no-name merc with history they wouldn't know if they could believe him or not, but if they found out who he really was... no kind of trust would be an option then. People didn't trust murderers. It wouldn't matter what he said... not that he needed anybody's trust to do what he came for, but he _did_ need them to stay out of his way. The question was, were they? This wasn't necessarily a bad development, but it didn't look to be a good one either.

He needed to figure out who was behind it - figure out how he could best play them for just a few more days. It was a given that the closer they got to that cloud, the ancier Maw'd be getting. Knowing if she had a pirate in her back pocket would be critical intel. Had that prompted her to enlist the nun? Were they stooping to using kids? He'd heard religion used to justify some nasty stuff. _If_ the nun were part of it, he had no reason to think she _wouldn't_ use all the resources available to her. In his experience adults didn't hesitate to use kids if it served their purpose. Riddick had seen it done - he'd even been the kid. When push came to shove, kids like he'd been, kids like Kyle was; they were expendable. If most the shipment arrived safe, write off the casualties as collateral damage and call it good. Those were the rules Riddick was familiar with. He had met at least one adult who would argue that, but then Joshua Jacobson had been the exception to a good many rules.

But Maw and the nun weren't the only prospects. There was Kyle himself. Those possibilities were sundry... personal challenge, bored with the ship, heard about the threat, trying to impress someone... In truth it didn't really matter why. All that mattered was the boy was after him, and Riddick doubted this little failure was going to cancel the mission. _You picked the wrong man to dance with, Kyle, and you could just get yerself hurt in the process... or worse. Think it's time to find out just what game yer playin' here... and who yer playin' it for._

Kyle disappeared around the corner without looking back and Riddick was about to do the same into engineering another body hit his rear scanner. Riddick knew who it was before he even saw her... a whisper of scent preceding, the sudden hesitant tread of her step... Holly Barons. He heard the slightest catch of breath as she neared, a faint hitch as she caught her courage up and an inhalation to prepare. His fist clenched as he turned his head suddenly, with all the smooth menace of a snake locking on its prey, and caught her in a stone faced glare before the first syllable even began to escape her lips. "Don't even," he snarled, then turned his back on her and disappeared into the darkness of engineering leaving her standing open mouthed and trembling in the hall.

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****WRITER'S THANKS, NOTES & NEWS:**

**NOTES**

Fot those that might be interested, back in 9/07, I updated chapter 4 to include _my_ version of Riddick's eye shining (from his point of view) and my reasons for doing it that way in the notes that follow. If your interested you don't need to read the whole chapter. It's near the end..

**THANKS:**

**JacklynK** - Well, I hope this chapter was worth waiting for because soon it certainly wasn't - GRRR Life is just too busy now days. Kyle's getting in even deeper - tell me if he stays "cool" :o) and "true to form." Prayer? Well, it's never too late to start (I need all I can get ;o) and God will be up anyways - LOL.

**KrisEleven -** To you I also apologize for the long wait. Hope you like this chapter is a little better. Not much in the way of action, but it did end with Riddick! A step in the right direction:oD As to Riddick accepting God in Nigh Unto Christmas, no worries. You are absolutely right - there is no way that could be done in any story previous to PB and TCoR and have him stay in character.  
Love ya back!

**Littlejewel667 -** Hi! No problem - I think I've made you wait longer for an update than you've made me wait for a review (just don't do it again!... just kidding!) No seriously. I really appreciate your reviews because you always give me details. I am thrilled that you feel I'm keeping Riddick in character and I thank you also for the comments on the kids' "little acts" in Chapter 5 because it means I am succeeding in showing not telling. Both are things I am striving to do and it feels good to "hear" someone say I'm achieving that. Likewise, let me know if I fail at some point. And as I told KrisEleven, don't worry, no out of character conversions in Nigh Unto Christmas. In PB Riddick hates God, and I can't change that and stay true to him or my goal of writing backstories that can fit within canon. Thank you again for your wonderful review. Love & hugs back at'cha!

**Shaden** - Thanks again. Well, you got your wish this chapter :-)... in part anyways. I really appreciate your faithfulness, encouragement AND your prayers. You've been in mine frequently. It's gonna take time to get them done... Yeah, it's taking that alright. SIGH But that's what I've got to do - persevere. Unfortunatesly you all have to do that right along with me and I am sorry. I don't necessarily think I bit off more than I can chew, but maybe more than I should have in one bite so now I am chewing very slowly. SIGH again

**RozzandMaya** - Oh, now you've got _my_ imagination going - LOL. When Ivory told Riddick his voice was all "rumbly" my daughter said she couldn't help imagining Ivory with curly red hair and a cute little Shirley Temple attitude. Add to that Vin in a Santa hat... Now _that's_ a juxtaposition of images! - LOL!  
Anyways, I would like to add you to my apology club. I never dreamed it was going to take me this long to get _any_ of my stories done, let alone simply updated, and I really feel badly that I am keeping people waiting so long. As I said to JacklynK - GRRRR! Life is busy, my laptop is flaking out - but I am persevering. God willing, I fully intend to finish every one of these tales.  
I also want to thank you for your _many_ kind words. When I read your reviews I feel all warm and fuzzy inside :-). I appreciate your comment about language (because that is one of my pet peeves too -- and I EDITED John's language from what I got off the chase log! -- and I am glad I am succeeding, at least somewhat) and your remarks about the quality of my writing are high praise indeed! I hope I can maintain those standards to the end. Do let me know if I don't.

**Forgotten Sinner** - Welcome and thanks! It is such a pleasure to receive a review from a new "face", especially after a story appears to have been dormant for so long. After your review I looked Chap 6 over and decided the part I hadn't finished yet didn't really _have_ to a part of _this_ chapter so I moved the unfinished piece and posted sooner than later :o). Your review was a great encouragement! I hope you will continue to enjoy Christmas, and that you'll be granted the patience to see it done ;o).

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**MY CONTINUING PROMISE:**  
As much as I hate it when other writers get 'distracted' by other stories and don't update the one _**I'm**_ reading as fast as I'd enjoy, I have discovered that there are times other stories insist on being written. The result? I have four stories currently 'in progress' for your perusal – as they are all of a 'back story' nature in Riddick's timeline they would occur thusly: Saved by Grace, Be Still: Chances, Turn About and Nigh Unto Christmas.  
The good news is that each story has been generally plotted and outlined, and only ("only" **¤**LOL**¤**) needs to be fleshed out. The bad? That takes time, especially when divided between 4 stories, 3 kids, (2 six and under), 1 husband and the life that contains them all and more, so writing time comes at a premium. What it means for my readers is that updates to this story may be intermittent. I do, however, **promise** it won't be abandoned barring death or other equally drastic life change. Updates will come, please be patient, (and, of course, be aware that **feedback** is a powerful motivator ;o) but until then, may God bless you all the time in-between.

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**CARE TO LOOK THEM UP? Here's the Bible references used in this chapter:**

1 - Psalm 46:1

2 - Luke 22:44 - the sweating blood thing is a medically documentable condition called Hematidrosis, here's a little info at Wikipedia if you can make out the address (obviously you'll need to take out the spaces and replace the capital letters with the appropriate punctuation to make this work in your browser): triple w DOT en DOT wikipedia DOT org SLASH wiki SLASH hemetidrosis  
If you're really interested and you can't make this address work SEND me a MESSAGE through my profile and I'll add the link there or something.


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